


The Illusion of Secrecy

by Accidental_Ducky



Category: Thir13en Ghosts (2001)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, discussion of suicide, so many fucking ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-28 18:30:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13909761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidental_Ducky/pseuds/Accidental_Ducky
Summary: “Alright, so Cyrus, Libby, and I used to hunt displaced spiritual energies.” Dennis paces anxiously, like to stop meant to get dragged into Hell by the ghosts downstairs. Arthur gives him the same look Libby gave Cook the first time he tried to explain the intricacies of Star Trek—a little on the blank side, completely uncomprehending, and the left eye twitching. “You know, P.K. Agents, wraiths…. Libby, you wanna help me out here?”“Arthur, have you ever seen that Ghost Hunters show on Syfy?” Arthur nods, looking as though he was contemplating what little sanity Libby had left. It wasn’t much, if she was being completely honest here. “Alright, well, it’s kind of like that except not at all.”“Jesus, you suck at this.”“I’m traumatized, assface! I don’t have to be good at exposition.”





	1. Struggling to Breathe

Libby was in pain; her breaths were becoming shorter and more gasps than anything, a stitch had started up in her side, and her lungs were burning as though someone had set fire to them. The most annoying thing was the shrill whistling that was constantly filling her ears and messing up what little concentration she had left. Her goal was blurry and too far away to even contemplate at the moment, heat lines wavering under the unforgiving sunlight. To put it bluntly, she felt like she was dying.

Yelling replaced the whistle now and only made the teen’s legs work harder against the pull of exhaustion. After what felt like hours she finally reached her goal and collapsed on the hard, burning asphalt, sucking in deep breaths as her gym coach continued his rant.

She didn’t see why he was so pissed, it wasn’t like she’d signed herself up for the half mile race she was practicing for. If she had her way, she wouldn’t even be on the track team, but her case worker was firm in her doing extra curriculars to keep her occupied. Gym and Libby Marks didn’t mix well.

"Get up and try it again, Marks," the coach growls, bringing his whistle to his lips. Libby groans, but gets to her feet nonetheless. Her case worker would kill her if she ended up getting detention for not listening to her elders. The whistle blows and she starts running, wishing she were anywhere else but there.

_Why couldn't I have taken art or some other blow off class? I probably could’ve joined one of those after-hours science clubs and smoked pot with the teacher._

Sucking in a deep breath, she tries to speed up at least a little bit to shut up her coach, the third one this year. Her gym class was particularly good at making coaches they didn’t like run for the hills, but Aaron didn’t seem to be going anywhere fast unless her friend dropped some weed in his office. She smiles at the thought of Coach Aaron getting put in the back of a police car, his face beet red and the little vein in his forehead throbbing. God, how she'd love to actually see that happen, but she wouldn't dare inform her friend of the idea.

"If you're in such a good mood surely you can speed up," Aaron shouts from his spot on the bleachers, a bottle of cold Gatorade clutched in his hand and the whistle hanging from a chain around his neck. She says nothing and speeds up a bit, much to her lungs' protest that she does otherwise.

She only stops again once she finally reached the chalk line drawn on the track, hands on her knees and panting for breath. She was definitely going to lose some serious weight by the time the year was over with, something she would be proud of when it actually happened.

"Jog back to the gym and get ready for your next class." She nods, jogging until she was well out of his sight and then slowing to a walk.

Libby never noticed that there was someone watching her, too busy quietly swearing at the teacher she'd left behind. The man’s brown eyes glint with triumph; after years of searching, Cyrus had finally found the girl he was looking for. The seventeen-year-old wasn't very attractive, he'd admit; her blonde hair was in a bun as usual, and she was dressed in a pair of loose shorts and an oversized tank top that said _Surely Not Everyone Was Kung Fu Fighting_ in bold white letters.

She might be easier to look at once she's lost some weight and tried to look presentable and not like someone who just crawled out of the gutter. She had a power in her, though, her entire family did, but she was at the age that was ripe for corruption. It helped she was gullible and innocent to most of the ways of the world. Yes, she would do nicely until he no longer needed her.

After all, she wouldn't be missed by many.

 

 

Libby takes her seat at the last row of tables in the chemistry classroom, putting her things down on the space in front of her. At this point in the day, she didn’t much care whether or not she even glanced at her classwork, she just wanted to finish her bottle of water and cool down. Her face is still tinted red from her earlier exertion and it made her best friend have to stifle a giggle. She glares at the brunette, holding up the finger she was proudest of.

"I take it gym went well, Libby,” Diana asks with a grin, pushing Libby’s hand down.

"Well, Aaron didn't threaten to have me filleted alive today, so yeah.” Libby looks around the classroom, wondering when their teacher would make his grand entrance. Cook was often late, but never quite this late. She takes another long drink from her water bottle before setting it on the floor beside her chair, feeling a little less like death warmed over. "How was computer science and, more importantly, was Richardson in a bad mood again?" Diana shrugs, cool blue eyes surveying the room.

"She wasn't too bad today, must've gotten a coffee fix or something." _Or something alright_. She might be buying a costly little something from one of the other foster kids. "Anyway, have you heard the latest basketball gossip?" Libby shakes her head, steeling herself for the inevitable wave of so-called ‘news’ that was about to hit her. "Apparently Jade and a sub got caught in the middle of doing the dirty and he got fired, but here's the best part, she's pregnant and her parents are trying to sue the sub." With a soft laugh, Libby opens her chem book and begins to look over last night’s homework for any mistakes before Cook came in to pick it up. "You actually did your homework last night?"

"Yep, Davey said that he'd give me a later curfew if I passed chemistry with a B." Davey is her case worker, an awesome guy for the most part, but a real hard ass when it comes to school. Diana nods, pulling out her worksheet and frowning down at it; she was great when it came to the math part, but hopeless when it came to the periodic table. "One should be aluminum." She tilts her head to the side, scribbling it down just as Cook walked into the room, slamming the door behind him as he always does to get the class' attention.

Libby slides her worksheet in front of her for Cook to pick it up, absently chewing on her pen cap. Diana continues to scramble to get her work done even though she knew Cook would help her with it after school when she came to his shop to work. She kept him organized, not to mention satisfied.

"Ladies," Cook greets when he makes it to their table, taking up Libby’s paper and sending Di a wink. Libby snorts, shaking her head and sending her teacher a smile. He grins back, knowing she would keep his secret for the simple reason that she considered him one of her favorite teachers. "Alright, everybody, face the smart board. Time for our weekly video!" The video turned out to be the newest episode of Criminal Minds, his favorite show and the bane of Diana’s existence. Di groans and rolls her eyes, sick of the episode already. "Diana, you can sleep later, that's why you have a bed at home!" Her head snaps up from the table, scowling at her lover.

 _He’ll be suffering from blue balls for a week because of that little comment_ , Libby muses, doodling on the margins of her textbook. _Unless he does a strip tease, then she’ll jump him before the song is over_. That had been embarrassing to walk in on, Libby expecting them to be arguing over how to organize his robotics equipment and not dry humping like a pair of pre-teens at a school dance.

She shudders at the memory, nose scrunching up as she glances sideways at her friend. Diana was still working on yesterday’s homework, chewing on her thumbnail as she did. The blue polish there was starting to chip away, another manicure down the drain because of a childhood habit she couldn’t quite kick.

The classes for the rest of the day passed by quickly, bleeding into one another until the bell rang for the final time and Libby was allowed to sprint out of her drama class. With the last class of the day over with, Diana and Libby made their way to the student parking lot. It had been a long day and all she wanted to do was pass out in her bed, but don’t let it be said that she’d ever caught a break.

Parked beside Diana's jeep is a fancy car that looked like it cost more than Libby’s old house. Standing at the passenger's side of it is Davey and the standing at the driver's side is some dude in a suit, both men looking out of place in the crowd of teens. The new guy was handsome, pale blue eyes and cheekbones that looked like they’d been crafted by Zeus himself. He also reminded her of her old lawyer, too full of himself to notice the two girls walking towards him.

"I didn't think Davey made enough to have a car like that," Diana says.

“He doesn’t,” Libby mumbles, her stomach tying itself into a knot as they get closer and closer to the two men. Davey looks anxious, something big is obviously on his mind and, judging by the way he keeps looking at the other guy, it's nothing good. "Hey, Davey, what's going on?" He gulps, his eyes now focused on the ground and his hands stuffed into his pockets.

"Libby, I've got some big news for you," he starts out with a slight stutter. "This man with me is a lawyer and he's come to me with all the proper paperwork of adoption." The other man looks at Diana with obvious interest, taking in her curves and large breasts. It was obvious what he was thinking about and Libby couldn’t blame him. Diana is beautiful and makes a lot of guys look her way with sighs and fantasies; Libby, on the other hand, seems to repel them. She’s too awkward around people and she’s lucky to get laid once every few months while Di gets it every other Tuesday as long as Cook's wife is out of the shop. "Mister Moss, this is Elizabeth Marks."

The man’s gaze lands on her now, intense and cold as he gives her a quick once-over. She meets his gaze head-on, not letting on to the nervous butterflies in her belly. His light blond hair is slicked back and he's dressed in a designer suit that fits his firm build perfectly. He would probably make Libby a blubbering mess if she didn't have to see those eyes, there’s no warmth there, only distaste and disinterest. She crosses her arms over her chest, hiding the bit of cleavage that her shirt reveals.

"Ben Moss," the man says, stepping forwards and holding out a hand for Libby to shake “I'm your future father's lawyer." She shakes the offered hand, sending Diana a look that spoke volumes of how much she wanted to be somewhere else. The brunette picked up on it, holding onto Libby’s arm and pulling slightly in the direction on her jeep. The sight of Di holding onto to Libby seemed to perk Moss' interest, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly in a smirk.

"Sorry if there's an inconvenience, Mister Moss, but Libby's mine for the day. We have all sorts of fun things planned, no men allowed." Di's tone had changed from playful to sultry in point five seconds, a new record. Moss' eyes darken slightly, licking his lips as he continues to stare at the two of them. Libby quickly catches onto Di's hint, wrapping one arm around her waist and resting her head on Di’s shoulder. "Surely you won't keep us from having fun before my best friend has to leave?" Moss swallows, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Of course. What kind of man would I be if I separated you two young women before you had a chance to say your goodbyes?" Di giggles, playing with a lock of Libby’s hair before pulling her away to the jeep and speeding out of the parking lot. It doesn’t take the girls long to dissolve into laughter, the look on Moss’ face enough to make the giggles uncontainable. He'd looked hopeful, as though he'd thought they’d invite him along for the ride.

"That was the best fake couple scheme we've ever pulled off!" Libby grins in agreement, pulling her shirt back up to cover more of her breasts. "God, did you see his face when I pulled your shirt down a little more?"

"The best part was when I hugged you back. His jaw would've hit the floor if we went any further." Diana giggles, bouncing in the driver's seat as they pull into the driveway of Cook's shop. They often hang out here in their free time, playing video games and watching TV while Cook builds shit. He is the biggest geek in town, building his own instruments and using his 3D printer to make Di a Storm Trooper mug and Libby a little Scooby-Doo figurine. "I'm gonna miss doing stuff like this when I'm gone."

"You don't know that your new daddy doesn't live in town."

"Did you even notice how fancy his lawyer was? There's no doubt that if my mystery dad can afford a guy like that, then he's bringing in the big bucks which means no small town trailer." Diana purses her lips as they walk inside, heading straight for the cabinet that Cook keeps the liquor in. "That is a very good idea. I’m gonna have to be good and drunk to put up with Daddy Warbucks in a few hours.”

“And I need to give you a proper send off.”

 

 

Libby groans as she climbs into Moss’ fancy car, holding onto the seat so she didn’t fall. The lawyer rolls his eyes, climbing into the driver’s seat and giving her an annoyed _you better not puke on my expensive leather seats_ look as he peels out of the driveway, heading back to the main road a few miles away.

"What the hell is wrong with you," he demands, sounding weirdly like a disappointed parent. Libby only giggles, kicking off her shoes and curling her legs underneath her in order to get more comfortable.

"I thought it was obvious, lawyer-person," she slurs. “I got drunk with my best friend and my science teacher, and then I made out with her, and then you showed up." She pauses a moment, trying to remember if that was the right order before nodding confidently. "Yeah, that's how it went. Ho-how'd you know where I was anyhow?" He clears his throat, giving her chest a pointed look. She glances down, wondering when her shirt had vanished. “Woah, push-up bras really _are_ magical.”

"We don't have enough time to get you completely sober for the court time, start drinking water." He reaches down and picks up a bottle of water from the floorboard, shoving it into her hands.

“Who needs to be sober when you could be having sex?” He lets out a surprised cough, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “Not right now, of course. I’m not eighteen until tomorrow morning. Or midnight tonight…. What day is it, Benny?”

“ _Drink_ , Elizabeth.”

“Only Davey calls me that. It kind of ruins the mood when I hear you say something Davey does. Do you know Davey? He’s great, he’s got this little wolf figurine—” Moss slams on his breaks, turning in his seat to level a hard stare in her direction. With wide eyes, she starts chugging the water and he makes a satisfied sound before driving again.

"Why the fuck would you go get drunk when you knew you had court today?" She opens her mouth to answer, but he just shoves some more water at her. “It was a rhetorical question. Keep drinking.” She takes the new bottle and throws the empty one in the back.

"You're boring."

“And you’re a pain in the ass.” He’s quiet the rest of the way to her foster home, white-knuckling the steering wheel as she continued to drink. The only thing keeping him from pushing her out of his car altogether was the massive paycheck that had his name written on it, Cyrus’ pending until Elizabeth had been delivered.

Davey was waiting just inside the doorway once they arrived, holding the door open for them as Moss drags the blonde inside. It wasn’t an easy task to complete, she was dragging her feet stubbornly until they reached the threshold. Impatient, he picks her up and settles her inside, jaw clenched.

"Davey," she whines," the lawyer won't have sex with me!" The frowning case worker says nothing, pushing her in the direction of the bathroom. “I’m not gonna be happy about it!”

 

 

"Are you going to change her name," the judge asks the man adopting Libby.

“Just her surname,” the other man states. Up close and personal, the only real mystery surrounding Cyrus Kriticos was just how loaded he was. She glares as Davey over her shoulder for not saying anything about this in the entire two years this adoption had been in the works.

"Alright, you'll need to approach and sign this paper and then she's all yours." Cyrus moves forward, pulling a pen out of his suit jacket. He dressed sort of old fashioned; normal suit with a cravat and a cane that he didn't need. His hair is the same dark brown as his eyes and his skin is pale, wrinkles showing his age. Someone who doesn't get out much, maybe? He's obviously wealthy, his car alone worth more than anything Libby owns. "Well, you're free to go." And so she walked out of the courtroom a new person. No longer the grungy teen she woke up as this morning, but a high class young woman.

Elizabeth Kriticos, at your service.


	2. Leaving Home

Libby spent that last night at the foster home saying her goodbyes and packing, Davey helping the best he could. He was a pretty good foster dad, the only one she’s ever had, and she could tell he felt awful about hiding the adoption from her. _Why_ he did it was something she’d probably never know for sure, but she figured it had something to do with her new father’s addiction to secrecy.

She didn’t get her bags completely packed until close to eleven, and she couldn’t seem to quiet her mind when she finally did crawl into bed. She spent thirty minutes just staring up at the ceiling, wondering what was going to happen the next morning. It also didn’t help that one of the other kids spent the night in her bed as though Libby wouldn’t leave if she was hugged tightly enough.

It was past midnight when she was able to sneak out of Jaqueline’s hold, sneaking into the kitchen with a couple of glances thrown over her shoulder to make sure no one heard her. It wasn’t until she was in the kitchen that she realized Davey was wide awake and making his way through a bag of powdered donuts.

“Hey,” he says around a mouthful.

“Why are you stressed?”

“I’m not stressed. Why do you think I’m stressed?” She moves to stand beside the kitchen table, smacking his chest and watching as a cloud of white puffs up in the air. “That could happen to anybody.”

“Not when they’re anal about not having any junk food whatsoever in the house.” She sits in the chair across from him, snatching a donut out of his hand and taking a bite out of it. “Now, you wanna talk or do you wanna pretend this isn’t happening?”

“My heart says the latter, but my head says you wouldn’t hesitate to clear out my donut stash.”

“Your head has the right of it.” He grabs for another donut, only to come up empty-handed, brows furrowing as he peers into the bag. “I got some candy stored under the sink next to the bottle of Windex.”

“That’s dangerous, you know.” But he goes for it all the same, looking more like a dog tearing into a steak than a responsible forty-three year old. His hair was mostly gray at this point in his life, though she could still make out some of the dark blond it had been in his youth, laugh lines surrounding his mouth showing that he was one of the kinder people around. “I thought you hated candy.”

“I know how you get sometimes and figured a moment like this one might come up where you ran out of donuts.” She pauses, finishing her own donut before speaking again. “Well, maybe not _exactly_ like this one. I was picturing something more along the lines of you wanting to take in another kid, but not having the room for it.”

“I would’ve told you if I’d had the time.” He finds his seat again, picking at the wrapper of an Almond Joy. “I mean, usually adoption takes at least three years and that’s not counting the home inspections and interviews we have to do. I just…. I just wish I had the money to adopt you since I’ve basically raised you.”

“That makes the two of us.” Libby stares down at her hands, folding them carefully in her lap and not caring when some of the powder lands on her nightgown. It was a ratty thing that she’s had for years, a dark red with Winnie the Pooh stitched near the shoulder of it, though he was more a tangle of loose strings than a silly ol’ bear anymore. “How did he even know about me?”

“He said he was an old friend of your parents’ and that he’d been in and out of the country these past seventeen years. Well, eighteen now,” he corrects, noting the time. “We did some research and we know the guy’s rich, but that’s about it. Unfortunately, some of the higher-ups can be swayed by money and that’s why we met you and Diana in the parking lot yesterday. Cyrus was very insistent on getting this finalized before you came of age.”

“That Moss guy looked like an asshole.” Davey snorts and dips his head in a nod, a twinkle in his blue eyes. “He was kind of cute, though.”

“He’s old enough to be your father.”

“He’s barely in his thirties, Davey.” He scoffs, taking a savage bite from his candy bar as though it had deeply offended him at some point. “What time will he be here in the morning?”

“Early, so we’d both better get some sleep.” He grabs the bag of candy as he stands, storing it in the freezer behind a package of frozen peas. “Sweet dreams, kiddo.” Libby hums in response, turning her gaze to the window and the stars beyond it. She used to try and count them as a child, her and Davey spending hours right here after she first came to live with him; him pointing out the constellations and her coming to grips with the fact that her parents weren’t coming home.

It wasn’t until three that she forced herself to stand up again, trudging back to her bedroom and collapsing onto the bed. Jaqueline snuggled close again the second Libby was under the covers, a comforting weight against her side as she closed her eyes. _So much for a having a happy birthday_.

 

 

With sleep still pulling at her, Libby crawled out of bed and dressed in the first outfit she could find, a simple purple button-down and a newspaper print skirt. Black wasn’t the dominate color by any means, but it did seem appropriate to wear on the day she was to leave the town she’d spent the past eighteen years in. Plus, it’s not like a whole lot of people would be seeing what she wore from now on. Ben had called earlier to make it clear that her new home would be secluded and that she was expected to ask _how high_ when Cyrus says _jump_.

Diana was waiting for her at the breakfast table when she came into the kitchen, the other kids already herded out the door for school. Davey was hovering near the stove, a spatula in hand, though nothing was cooking in the frying pan he was staring so intently at. _Still stressed to the max, then. Nothing new._ Libby sits across from her friend, pouring some creamer into the mug of coffee set before her.

"Do you have to go, Libby," Di asks over breakfast, picking at her waffles. "I mean, I could hide you in Rob's shop and no one would find out."

"Yeah, that would be great, but Cook's shop is the first place they'd look for me." The brunette frowns, the hand not holding her fork wrapped tightly around one of Libby’s wrists. "Relax, I have my laptop, I can still Skype you at night and let you know what's going on. Besides, I'm eighteen now, so you can come kidnap me without worrying about lawyers and shit." Diana smirks at the mention of lawyers, biting her bottom lip.

"Mm, that lawyer of Cyrus’ looks really nice." Libby chuckles, shaking her head and taking a sip of her drink. "Did you fuck him last night? I know how horny you get when you're drunk."

"I can't really remember much past him dragging me out of the house. Hell, even court is a blur and I was beginning to sober up by then." Di nods, forking a strawberry and taking a small bite of it. Libby looks down at her own food in disgust, the brown sugar oatmeal and strawberries making her nauseous this early in the morning. “I _do_ remember him admiring my boobs, small though they are.” Diana shrugs, her grip on Libby’s wrist tightening and making her wince. "Ease up, you're gonna kill my wrist." When Diana doesn't say anything, Libby follows her gaze over her shoulder and spots the lawyer in the doorway. _Benjamin Moss, everybody, asshole galore_. "Aw, fuck me."

“Elizabeth,” he says,” it’s time to leave.” Di stands up so fast she knocks her chair over, pulling Libby forward into a bone crushing hug over her waffles.

"Don't let Cyrus manipulate you, use your you-know-what if you have to," she whispers before releasing Libby. "Davey already put your bags by the front door, make stuffy haul 'em out for you." Libby glances around the kitchen, but Davey had left at some point, only the batter-smeared spatula on the counter pointing to him ever being in there.

Diana gives Libby a supportive smile, walking over to Moss with a purpose in her stride that should make the man afraid. Libby walks past the pair and to the front door, grabbing her backpack and computer bag, leaving the other two suitcases behind for Moss to carry out. His car was parked curbside, jet black and all kinds of expensive. She throws her backpack in the opened trunk and gently places the other bag in the back floorboard before getting in the passenger’s seat. It would probably take a bit for Diana to get all the threats out of her system, so she settles in with Candy Crush opened on her phone.

When he finally does come out, Moss looks like someone has just pissed in his Cheerios. _Damn, Di must've really torn into his ass for him to look that mad_. She doesn’t say anything until they’ve been driving a couple of minutes, chancing a glance at him from the corner of her eye.

“She threatened to kick you so hard that you’d have to have a six inch heel removed from your ass, didn’t she,” Libby guesses. “And if that wasn’t bad enough, she did it in the most seductive tone imaginable?”

“She certainly has a way with words.” She smiles, pride for her friend blooming in her chest. To say Diana was protective of her loved ones would be a bigger understatement than saying it’s a bad idea to attack Russia during the winter. That’s what happens when your parents abandon you at a Walmart, you get issues out the ass and protective instincts that could rival a lioness.

The next few hours are spent in silence, not really awkward, but not comfortable either as the only sound was the purring engine. It’s not until he suddenly pulls off onto a dirt road the leads to a clearing that Libby even looks up from her phone, barely noticing the fact that she’d run out of lives on her game.

“Are you gonna murder me in the woods? I feel I should warn you that I’ve been climbing trees since I was three and these heels are easy to remove if I need to run.”

“What? No, I’m not some crazed murderer, Elizabeth.” Her nose scrunches up at the use of her name, more used to people calling her ‘Libby’ or ‘that little asshole’. The latter is usually yelled as she’s walking to the principal’s office from her math class. Moss puts the car in park, unbuckling his belt so he could turn in his seat to look at her. She follows suit, careful not to flash him. “I just thought you’d like to know the rules before we actually get to the house.”

“You can’t tell me them while driving?”

"Mister Kriticos expects you to act like a young woman should,” he says, ignoring her question entirely,” no loud music or obnoxious sounds. If he tells you to do something, you do it without question. Treat him with respect or he'll beat the shit out of you with no hesitation. He doesn't like children, he never has." _If he doesn't like kids, then why the hell did he adopt me?_ "You will work at my firm every Wednesday and Saturday, you will stay at my apartment those nights. And finally, I believe there is a gift for you in the backseat." Curious, she turns and finds a medium-sized gift bag resting on the seat, purple paper peeking out to cover up whatever's inside. "Open it, I think you'll like it. I know I did." That alone makes her consider throwing it out the window.

Instead, she sets the bag in her lap and pulls the paper out, spotting the so-called gift that had him smiling. It was black lingerie, sheer with ties up the front of it and lacework around the waist and up to the bodice. Beneath it was a pair of matching panties and thigh-highs, things that belonged in the back of some repressed housewife’s dresser.

“Holy God,” she mutters, brows furrowing as she looks back up. “What am I gonna use these for? If Cyrus told you to pass these on, then I’ll just hitch a ride back to town with some guy that seems a little less like a crazed ax murderer.”

“Relax, they’re a house warming gift from me.”

“That doesn’t make it any less creepy.”

“Still wanna have sex? You’re eighteen now and we’re not expected until dinner time.” There was a big part of her mind that was screaming for her to run as far and fast as she could, but it was drowned out by the part of her brain that always chose bad decisions. In her defense, the man sitting in front of her was drool-worthy and could probably have most any woman he set his eyes on.

“Fine, but you need to scoot your seat back.” She’s had sex before, even with some older guys, but none of those situations had felt so practical as this one. Where before there had always been sweaty palms pressing under her shirt, now it was methodically positioning herself in a lap and trying to figure out how to diffuse the awkward tension she’d probably be met with once the act was done.

Moss presses a demanding kiss against her lips, an arm wrapped around her waist to keep her steady while her hands curled in the lapels of his expensive jacket. His tongue massages her own, exploring and coaxing her to relax further against him. He groans as she grinds her hips down, urging her closer to him. Pulling back for air, she gives a throaty laugh.

"I didn't take you as a man that likes being on bottom." Libby rotates her hips again, a hiss escaping from between his clenched teeth. She leans forward to nip at the hollow of his throat, feeling his pulse jump.

"I suppose I'll have to make an exception this one time," he smiles, returning the bite with one of his own, soothing the sting with his tongue. With a moan, she leans into his attacking mouth, letting him leave red marks up and down her neck.  _If you wanna do this again you'll have to make another exception because I don't do bottom, buddy_ , she thinks with a smirk as she unbuckles his belt. "Impatient?" Laughing, she reaches inside his boxers and pulls out his hard, throbbing member.

“Always, Benny.” He smirks, moving his hands up her legs and under her skirt, giving a surprised yet appreciating look when he realizes she’s gone commando. "Don't look so shocked, I'm not as innocent as some would have you believe."

“I’m not complaining.” He inserts two fingers, moving them slowly in a come-hither motion that has Libby’s hips bucking against him. Most guys rushed this part, but Moss took his time and made sure she was comfortable, thumb working in tight circles over her clit. Libby lets out a low growl, smacking his hand away and positions herself over his member. His hands go to her hips, the tight grip sure to leave bruises later on.

“Can I get a please," she whispers, lips brushing against his ear. He doesn’t give her what she wanted, instead using his grip to slam her hips down to impale her. She throws her head back with a shout, eyes squeezed shut as he took control and moved her the way he wanted. His thrusts are carefully controlled like the rest of him, hitting that spot that made sparks dance up and down her spine.

She moves her hips with his in the familiar primal dance that everyone knows deep down, chasing the release that feels just out of reach. “Jesus,” Moss grunts, one hand moving to her hair and mussing the careful style she’d fixed it in that morning, tangling long fingers in golden hair and pulling her head back so he could bite and suck at the bared column of her throat.

“Oh God, please…” She’s dimly aware that she’s babbling, grinding her hips against his again to get some much-needed pressure. “Please, Ben, please.” It was like a mantra, pouring past her lips, breathless and half-muffled by pleading moans, hips working harder and faster until suddenly her back was arching, and she was tumbling over the edge as pleasure bursts warm and tingling in her belly.

She slumps forward as he finishes against her thighs, breaths mingling and limbs loose as their brains rebooted. Libby wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, sunlight warming her back through the satin of her blouse and wisps of hair sticking to her face from sweat. She’s had a few good orgasms before—most of them came from her own fingers because teenage boys were just clumsy—but this one really took the cake.

“We definitely have to do this again,” Moss says once his heartbeat is steady again. “Imagine how good it would be in a bed.”

“Or on a desk.” He pushes her back just enough to see that she was serious, brushing his thumb along the arc of her cheekbone just under her right eye. “What? I have three years’ worth of fantasies to try out and you’re the lucky guinea pig.”

“I’m not gonna complain.” She gives him a goofy grin, moving to sit back in the passenger’s seat and wincing when her thighs rub together. They were starting to itch now, and she’s immensely grateful when Moss produces a small package of baby wipes for her to clean up with. “Sorry about your hair.”

“It’s an easy fix.” Once she felt a little less gross, she pulls the visor down and uses the vanity mirror to pin the loose hairs back into place. He waits until she’s finished patting her hair down before starting the car and pulling back onto the road, looking as polished and refined as before aside from the way his shoulders seemed a bit less tense. Libby relaxes further in the seat, smug about being the one to pull the stick right out of his ass.

“It’ll be dinner time when we get to the house, so I hope you packed a nice dress.”

 

 

The house they stop in front of is probably the strangest one that Libby’s ever seen; walls made entirely out of glass with iron support beams holding it all together. It was like an architect’s wet dream, entirely impractical yet beautiful in a weird way that shouldn’t work. There’s an unfinished look to it that she could come to appreciate, chaotic man-made bullshit smack dab in the middle of the woods.

Moss smirks at her gobsmacked expression, tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear. He was a tactile person, almost verging on touch-starved from the way he’d always been brushing against her on the drive here—fingers brushing hers whenever he shifted gears, hand squeezing her thigh, lips finding hers at stop lights that slowly gave way to stop signs the further into the countryside they went.

“I take it from the way your jaw keeps dropping open that you approve,” he teases, cutting the ignition and pocketing his keys.

"Approve is a big understatement, Benny.” She grabs her computer bag and gift bag before getting out, letting Moss grab her other bags out of the trunk so she had more time to ogle her new home. “So I guess one of the unspoken rules is no throwing things?”

“Cyrus and I figured you were old enough to work that one out for yourself.” They walk up the path to what Libby guesses to be the front door, a pair of glass panels sliding shut behind them and two more opening in front of them to permit them into the entry hall. She sends Moss an uncertain look and the lawyer shrugs in response, apparently used to the weird entrance. _That’s gonna take some getting used to_.

Cyrus is waiting for them in what appears to be the living room, reading over a piece of old parchment until he notices that he’s not alone. He turns and sets the parchment carefully inside a glass display case, sliding a lid in place to guard it from plebian hands like Libby’s. He must be a collector of some kind because there’s all kinds of artifacts scattered throughout the rooms that she can see, including Katanas and a pistol from the seventeen-hundreds.

“Mister Kriticos,” Libby greets stiffly, clasping her hands in front of her. Cyrus sends them an unimpressed look, taking in their ruffled appearance as though he had expected nothing less and had hoped for a different outcome. “Mister Moss said that I should change for dinner, so I’mma just….” She trails off when she notices Cyrus’ attention being drawn elsewhere.

"Show her to her room, Ben. I'm sure you can find something there to occupy your time until our dinner arrives," he says before wandering off. Ben scowls after him, a look that clearly stated _dammit, Jim, I’m a lawyer not your housekeeper_. Still, he gestures for Libby to follow him up a set of stairs all the same.

“A little bit of advice to keep you on the old man’s good side,” Ben says as they go,” don’t go into the basement without Cyrus’ explicit permission. He’s cantankerous and sadistic on top of that.”

“I take it that his cane has more uses than just making him look like a douche,” she asks with raised brows.

“Exactly.” She shrugs, deciding to push her limits and exploit any weak spots she found in Cyrus’ armor.

The room Ben leads her to is the third on the left on the second floor, decorated opulently with silk wall hangings and a Chinese divider boasting a picture of falling cherry blossoms for her to change behind. There’s a nice desk made of cherry wood on the left side of the room, a matching chair with a bright red cushion set behind it; on the right side is an old fashioned wardrobe with flowers carved into the dark wood, a vanity sitting beside it for her makeup and jewelry.

The bed dominates the room, a four-poster with gauzy orange curtains that paired nicely with the bright red covers and gold pillows. Directly across from the bed are a couple of glass shelves built into the wall, holding a pair of glass bookends shaped like the halves of a butterfly. On the same far wall as the bed was a door that leads into a connecting bathroom, a shower tucked away in a corner, a clawfoot tub set against the far wall with the sink and mirror on the right wall and a towel rack on the left one, a little whicker hamper set on the floor by the door.

Libby grins, setting her bags down on the desk and running up the two steps of the dais before jumping onto the bed with a squeal. “This room is amazing,” she shouts, rubbing her cheek against the silk pillowcase under her head. “I’ve only ever seen rooms this big in magazines!”

“You’re rich now, Elizabeth, enjoy it.” He was leaning in the doorway with his arms and ankles crossed, looking amused as she stares around in round-eyed awe.

“Does that mean you’ll start calling me Libby if I tell Cyrus to give you a tenner?”

“I’ll do it pro bono for you just this once.” Libby sits up reluctantly, rubbing her hands over the satin comforter that felt like heaven against her palms. "How about a shower before we're called down to dinner?" Moss’ devious smile was matched by one of her own and his grows wider as she slides off the bed and starts for the bathroom, undressing as she went. The shower, as Libby found out a moment later, was perfectly capable of holding two people with enough space left over for three more to join in, little shelves built into the wall holding bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.

Moss starts the shower, a spray of hot water cascading down their bodies and turning their skin a pale shade of pink. "Your body is so nice to look at,” she breathes, running her hands down his bare chest and then back up to rest on his broad shoulders. He was pretty built for an older guy, just enough muscles to be tasteful without looking fueled by steroids.

“I was thinking the same thing about yours.” He presses his lips against hers in a gentler kiss than before, taking time to savor and enjoy the sensation. He tastes nice, like the Red Hot gum she’d popped in on the way out of town. _Wait a second_ …. She traces his bottom lip with her tongue, moaning when he parts his lips and allows her tongue to dip inside and taste. It doesn’t take her long to figure out why he tasted like her gum, swiping it back and pulling away from him with raised brows.

“Seriously?”

"You can't blame me for wanting a souvenir, can you?" Libby remains silent, blowing a bubble. He leans forward and pops the bubble with his teeth, keeping some of the gum in his mouth. "There, now we both have some."

"Shut up and help me wash," she laughs, lightly smacking his chest before grabbing the body wash. He grabs the loofah hanging from the showerhead, holding it steady as she drizzled the scented body wash over it, then he was rubbing it along her spine at a snail’s pace just to see her shiver.

 

 

"Wow..."

"Shut up," Libby snaps, zipping up the side of her dress with a scowl. It’s the nicest dress she owns, which isn’t saying much considering it just has to be nice enough to pass at a frat party. It’s a two-toned dress, the top half a solid black with tank top straps and the skirt of it black with little red flowers scattered over it. It was fairly modest, stopping just above her knees.

“Here, put this on to go with it.” She takes the necklace Moss had picked out, three loops of silver with the first one forming a choker and the other two dotted with little silver beads, a little crescent moon dangling from the third loop of the chain. It was a tasteful thing that Davey had given her last year for Christmas, meant for special occasions like court and that time he dragged her to check out colleges along the coast.

“So, what do you think?” She spins in place, letting him get a good long look with her arms held away from her sides. “Will your boss approve?”

“Probably not, but it’s the best we can do until you go shopping.” He lets out a sigh and stands up from the stool that was set in front of the vanity, buttoning his charcoal suit jacket and smoothing out the soft cashmere. “Come on, let’s not piss him off more than we have to.” Libby nods and follows the lawyer back down the stairs and through the endless maze of halls until they come into a dining room (an honest to God dining room, not just a table squeezed inside a kitchen, today was filled with firsts). Cyrus was just setting down a couple bags of Chinese take-out when they walk inside, his gaze lingering on the dark bruises along Libby’s neck and shoulders for a moment. Self-conscious, Libby brings some of her hair forward to cover the hickies Moss had left in his wake.

“Mister Moss,” he greets boredly.

"Cyrus, no need for the cold shoulder. Just talk to the girl.” The older man didn’t say anything as they sat at the long wooden table, the pristine white tablecloth hiding the hand Moss places on her thigh. Cyrus clears his throat to get Libby’s attention, sliding her a Styrofoam container before pulling out his own. Libby’s not sure if she wants to thank him or ask Moss to test it for poison.

“I know about your ability.” Yep, eating is a bad idea because a whole mouthful of rice went spraying everywhere as Libby lapsed into a coughing fit. “I’ve had people watching you since you were a child to see if you would inherit your little ability, though I never knew just how difficult it would be to legally adopt a child. You really shouldn’t use telekinesis to get your case worker’s jeep out of a ditch, Elizabeth.”

 _Well I’ll be damned_. 

All she can do is stare at him in shock, mouth opening and closing like a dying fish as she tried to process his admission. What the fuck are you supposed to say to creepy old dudes that admit to spying on you since infancy? The cops never covered this situation during the Bad Touch Prevention assemblies that were held every year. _Kick him in the crotch and run_.

“U-um,” she stutters,” I can explain….?” And then the word vomit came spewing out, Libby informing the men that the ability comes from her mother’s side of the family and skipped entire generations sometimes; she explains that her parents hated that their daughter could move things with her mind and wasn’t normal, that her tantrums could make the entire house shake after her second birthday. Most of her memories were fuzzy around the edges, but she remembered the beatings that had driven her five year old self to flip their car on a trip to the lake one afternoon, her power the only thing that kept her alive. Her parents were pulled out by firefighters, mangled and broken from the steep roll down into a ditch.

There was no remorse as she spoke, no traces of survivor’s guilt in the way she kept her shoulders back and chin angled upwards like Davey had taught her. She felt nothing towards the people that brought her into the world except for a dark hatred that burned in her chest.

“That’s quite enough, Elizabeth.” It’s not until Cyrus speaks that she realizes the table is vibrating in time with her rage, nearly shaking like the aftershocks of an earthquake were rumbling past them. She closes her eyes and finds her center, taking deep breaths until the table was still beneath her hands. Cyrus nods with something like approval, as though Libby had passed an important test. "Eat your dinner and then get some rest, we have a busy week ahead of us."


	3. Ghosts in the Basement

Libby was in bed the first time she heard the noise, the alarm clock reading ten at night and the otherwise quiet telling her she was all by herself in the big glass house. Curious, she grabs her phone and starts looking for the source of the noise, stopping in front of the stairs that lead down into the basement.

Normally there was a pane of glass that kept anyone without a key from going down there, but the pane had slid away as Libby approached. There was no denying that she was completely down for snooping, especially since Cyrus is nowhere in sight and wouldn't be back until late, but she also remembered the old saying about felines and fatal curiosity. _Satisfaction brought it back_ , a voice in the back of her mind whispered. _What could be more satisfying than disobeying Cyrus?_ And, yeah, that was enough motivation to make the choice.

With one last look over her shoulder she starts down the stairs towards the screaming. In the spirit of honesty, she wouldn’t be at all surprised to find out her adoptive dad tortured people in the dank, dark basement. Theories of him being a serial killer on the lamb were dashed to pieces when she makes it to the bottom of the steps. All that awaited her was glass boxes with Latin phrases embedded in them, carved with a delicate hand and depressingly empty despite the echoing screams.

Libby stands in front of the box that the screams were coming from, trying to spot any speakers or cameras that might be capturing her breaking Cyrus’ number one rule. “What the actual fuck, old man,” she mumbles, looking for a way inside.

"Don't you dare!" She jumps at the new voice, spinning on her heel to find a tall man with dark blond hair cut close to his head. He wore thick plastic glasses, a small light built into the frames, blue eyes wide with warning. He was handsome with a sleep-deprived genius vibe coming off him in waves, too scrawny for his own good and towering over her at a good six feet and three inches. "Trust me, you don't want to do that."

“And I should trust the skinny dude that breaks into peoples’ houses?” She backs up against the box, wishing she’d brought a weapon with her that was better than her cell phone. The man holds up both hands in a gesture of surrender, taking a calculated step back to put more space between them.

"Look, I'm not gonna hurt you, okay? But that thing in there won't hesitate. Come on, let's go upstairs and wait for Cyrus." The screams had amplified when the man came into view and they were beginning to cause a migraine to build behind her eyes. She flinches as the sound grows an octave higher, fighting the urge to back away from the glass since that would take her closer to Stranger Danger.

"You know Cyrus?"

"Yeah, he's my boss." The only person Cyrus works with that actually comes to the house is Ben, none of the other lackeys were allowed inside. "You, uh, you  _are_ his daughter, right?" Libby nods suspiciously, not taking her eyes off the guy in case he decides to knock her out and steal everything in the house. “My name is Dennis Rafkin, your dad asked me to meet him here.” He extends one of his arms, holding out a hand for Libby to shake. "Cyrus never told me your name."

“I’m Libby.” She studies him a moment longer before deciding he probably couldn’t hurt a garden snake let alone a real human. “Come on, let’s get out of here before the screaming drives me batty.” She pushes past him and up the stairs into a room she’d discovered last month. The walls were made of glass just like all the other rooms in the house, but the floor was made up of bright color that formed a mosaic of roses. In the far corner of the room on the left side is an antique piano, the only furniture aside from the classy sofa near the door.

“Did he add on to this place? I never noticed this room before.”

“I’ve only been here a few months, dude.”

She sits at the piano as Dennis plops down onto the couch, dirty boots staining the dark purple cushions as he relaxes. Libby might have scowled at his lack of manners if she didn’t know the mud would drive Cyrus insane. Instead, she rolls her shoulders and begins to play the first song that comes to mind. It was a calming melody that she’d heard on a Librarian movie, one of her new favorites even if it did make Ben want to strangle her.

" _I see the sadness in your eyes is more than you let on, they ask where love has gone. Was it some magic or a twist, a spell that crossed the stars? Whatever happened here we are. I gave up hoping oh so long ago, I can’t remember even when…._ "

"That's enough, Libby." She looks at Ben over her shoulder, resting her hands in her lap. Cyrus is standing next to him, sneering down at Dennis until the other guy stood up and got his boots off the couch. “Go and put on your work clothes, it’s bring your kid to work day.”

“Make it something you don’t mind getting dirty,” Dennis advises quietly. She nods and leaves the room without a word, leaving the men behind in the parlor. Libby takes the steps two at a time and is quick to change once she has her bedroom door shut, deciding on a simple pair of jeans and a flannel shirt.

A whole team of men in trucks were waiting just outside the house, all wearing jumpsuits and the same plastic glasses as Dennis. Ben’s fancy car is gone, which isn’t really surprising since he wasn’t the type of guy to get his hands dirty if he could help it. Actually, he’s more the type to kick ass in the courtroom and then roll around naked in piles of gold like Scrooge McDuck.

“Here, you’ll need these.” Dennis holds out a pair of the weird glasses, his own resting on the top of his head. "They're your prescription, Cyrus and the suit made sure of it." Libby takes them with a quiet _thank you_ , sliding her prescription pair of glasses in her shirt pocket and putting the plastic pair on in their stead. She turns to look back at the house, the white Latin etched into the walls glowing a bright gold, like someone had gone through and highlighted it.

“Well, that’s new,” she mumbles, watching the way the inscriptions seemed to glow under the high beams of the trucks.

“Yeah, it’s a neat trick. Let’s get in the car before Cyrus gets impatient and skins us alive.”

 

 

The old hospital they park in front of sends shivers down Libby’s spine that meant nothing good. The building is burnt almost beyond recognition and looks like it would fall apart at a small breeze, nature trying to reclaim it as vines grow over the façade and weeds sprout up through the cracked cement walkways.

"Stay close, Elizabeth, I don't need you getting yourself hurt," Cyrus instructs as they exit the car and walk up to the doors of the hospital. Half-hidden beneath a heavy coating of moss was a plaque that had been screwed into the bricks next to the door, fading brass letters naming the place as _Borehamwood Asylum_.

“Hey, I did a report over this place junior year for my speech class,” she says to no one in particular,” it housed Willow Grove’s most dangerous patients. Most of them weren’t even insane, they just had mental illnesses like Bipolar Disorder and Down Syndrome. Except for Ryan Kuhn, he was supposed to be this Jack the Ripper type psychopath that burned alive inside the asylum.” Dennis nods, making sure to keep an arm’s length of distance between him and everyone else. "From what I read online a girl got lost in here around four years ago and her body was found two weeks later, she’d been raped and mutilated. A lot of people blamed it on a ghost since she was found in the basement where Ryan was kept, but the police arrested a crack head that had been hiding nearby."

"The people had it right," Dennis murmurs. "You see, Ryan never left the asylum even after he died; he's here somewhere and we're supposed to find him." Libby’s eyebrows scrunch together in confusion at that. _Why would we try to find a ghost?_

"Shouldn't we call the Boo Brothers?" He scoffs, shaking his head as they follow Cyrus into what was once a front lobby meant for checking patients in. The wooden floor was scorched black, huge chunks of it missing and leaving jagged edges behind; the light fixtures melted and hanging precariously from the ceiling, and graffiti covering every inch of exposed wall space.

“We’d probably have better luck with the Monster Squad.”

“Are you two quite finished back there,” Cyrus snaps from the front of the group. While Dennis has the good sense to not meet the man’s gaze (Libby had a running theory that Cyrus was the love child of Medusa and Vincent Price), Libby met his stare head-on and dared him to turn her to stone.

“Sorry, Cyrus.” Cyrus lets out a sharp breath and continues walking down one of the halls to the right of the nurse’s station, leading them towards one of the doors on the right of the hall, the wooden panel set at an angle with only a single hinge keeping it in the doorway at all. One of the men that had accompanied them pops the hinge loose and sets the door against the opposite wall before stepping aside for the others.

“Glasses on, everyone.” Libby slides hers back into place, the twin lights on either side of them providing just enough of a shine that she could see the rickety stairs they were expected to go down. It was like a PSA for tetanus; anyone that tried to walk down those things weren’t only tempting Fate, they were calling it a little bitch.

“I think I’ll just stay up here and keep watch,” Libby says. She tries to take a step back, but Cyrus latches onto her wrist and tugs her up next to him.

“You will walk down those stairs and I’ll hear no complaints.”

“No thanks, I’d like to be at least eighty before I die tragically.” He gives her a steely look and her shoulders hunch because she’s seen that look enough to know that it means _do what I say, or I’ll lock you in a closet for a week_. She shakes free of his hold and gives a sullen nod.

“March, young lady.” The steps creak loudly underfoot, one of them giving way under a man's foot and damn near snapping his ankle. Two men help him back up the stairs and out to a truck, and Libby’s first thought is that Fate is about to tell them all to get bent. _Goddamn it, I’m not ready to break my neck falling down a flight of stairs_. Instead of letting the fear build in her chest, she turns to Dennis and decides to do what she does best: Ignore problems until they go away.

“You don’t actually believe in ghosts, do you?” Dennis says nothing, just reaching out to push Libby’s glasses back up from where they’d been slipping down the bridge of her nose. “There’s no such thing. It’s all just fairy tales and hokum—” Libby’s cut off when she’s suddenly forced sideways against the burnt railing, the wood breaking under her weight and sending her to the rough stone floor below. She gasps in a desperate attempt to force air back into her lungs, watching in shock as a man in a shredded straight jacket drags her across the room by her ankles.

The man, if he could even be called that, matched all the descriptions of Ryan Kuhn that had been catalogued on a ghost blog; pale face surrounded by stringy black hair, his head trapped inside a metal cage with the front bars broken and curled outwards, and teeth a bright yellow. His arms are deformed from struggling to get out of the jacket, nails long and filed into sharp points, digging into the sensitive skin of Libby’s ankles as he hops around and laughs maniacally.

When she finally gets her breath back, Libby screams and tries to get a leg free to kick him in the face, rusted bars be damned. Ryan laughs louder, tossing his head back and revealing third degree burns along his thick neck.

"Libby," Dennis shouts, jumping through the hole in the railing that she'd made when she fell. “You have to do your thing! Fight back!” She squeezes her eyes shut as her side connects with the blackened bricks of the wall, feeling the ghost climbing slowly up her body like she was some kind of sweet he had to savor. She felt small compared to Ryan, and maybe that’s what forced her find the ball of rage in her chest and fling the ghost backwards. “Start the spells, you idiots!”

Latin echoes throughout the room in a garbled voice, Libby opening her eyes just enough to see that Ryan was trying to cover his ears with his hands like the recorded voice was hurting him. She turns onto her stomach so she won’t have to see him, watching instead as men back out of a glass cube like the ones in Cyrus’ basement.

Ryan flickers in and out of sight as he stomps into the cube, the door of it sliding closed and locking behind him. He attacks the glass with his nails the second the Latin stops, screeching and shouting in a blind rage that had Libby reaching out for whoever was closest to her. Dennis stiffens under the tight hold she has on his wrist, dropping to the floor and shaking so violently that his eyes roll into the back of his head.

“Don’t touch him, Elizabeth,” Cyrus cautions a second too late, taking in the scene almost boredly. "He's clairvoyant, the touch of a person could send him into a seizure if he's not careful." Libby scoots back a small bit, deciding to wait the fit out and make sure he was coherent enough to make it to a hospital safely. "Bring the cube up the truck and take it back to the house, I'll be along shortly to pay you once the job is complete." The men still in the room giver sharp nods, struggling to get the large cube back up the stairs and outside. "Don't take too long." And then Cyrus left too, and it was just the psychics left in the dark basement.

“Have you heard about building a wall,” she asks after a few quiet minutes. He was still shivering, but the convulsions had stopped. “I learned how to do it was I was four to keep my parents from hurting me.” Libby brings her knees up to her chest as the memories try to surface, making herself small. “All you have to do is close your eyes when you think you're about to have an attack and imagine a brick in your mind, put another brick on top of it and so on until you feel in control. You'll need fewer and fewer bricks every time until you just won't need them anymore."

"How many bricks are you down to," he asks softly, looking over at her.

"Twenty-nine and a half." He chuckles dryly, closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath. "You have to relax, don't be so tense." Dennis nods, relaxing slightly with his lips moving as he silently counts the bricks. "Imagine your ability as a glowing ball trapped behind the bricks and unable to get out." He breathes in and out again, relaxing further. "That's it, Dennis. How many bricks are you up to now?"

“One hundred.” Libby nods with a supportive smile even if he can’t see it, knowing this little trick might work for him was enough to give her a sense of accomplishment. Those hazy memories, faded around the edges but no less painful, were carefully locked away and stamped down until she felt better equipped to deal with them.

"I'm gonna touch you, Dennis, but I need you to stay calm for me." He nods, relaxing further and his lips moving faster. Slowly, she reaches out a hand and cups his cheek, her thumb rubbing it soothingly back and forth. "Are you cool?" He opens his eyes and gives her a weak smile, sweating despite the cold wind whistling in through cracks in the foundation.

"Never been better." Libby tugs on his hand to help him sit up, brushing off cobwebs and charred wood. "Cyrus won't wait much longer, we better go." They stand and support each other on the way up the stairs, pushing all thoughts of dead things out of their minds for the moment.

 

 

Libby walks into Ben’s firm with all the confidence of a goldfish, tugging at the hem of her white blouse and wondering if it was too late to tuck tail and run. Then her eyes landed on Hannah Manly and she decided that not only would she stay and do a competent job, she’d do it with the knowledge that she had the boss wrapped around her finger while the older blonde was stuck sorting files. Spite is a hell of a motivator. 

Instead of marching right into Ben’s office, Libby channels her inner Diana and moves over to Hannah with all the grace of a model (Di always referred to it as the Murder Walk, learned after watching Charlize Theron movies religiously). Hannah was beautiful in a cold sort of way; pale blonde hair that flowed in loose curls, pretty gray eyes, a fringe of lashes any girl would kill for, and an hourglass figure you only saw photoshopped in magazines. No matter what, she still looked ugly when her full lips were twisted into a scowl and Libby knew for a fact that her personality was as interesting as stale bread.

“Hey, Hannah,” Libby greets, shaking the other woman’s hand. “How’s your husband?” In the few months that Libby has known Ben, she’s been in his office at least once a week just to get familiar with the routine.

“He’s fine, last I checked. Charlie’s taking a ski trip with his secretary,” she answers with a smile just as fake as Libby’s. "I see you're playing secretary today, what a coincidence." _If I can handle murderous ghosts, then I can handle a bitchy human with no sweat._

"Not really, Ben's been itching to bend me over a desk for a while now." She turns and walks into Ben’s office with an extra skip in her step, not once tripping because of the dark blue stilettos she’d strapped herself into that morning. “Morning, Benny.” He smiles at her, holding up a finger as he listens to the client on the other end of the phone. Libby settles in at the little desk across the office, starting up the desktop and plugging her phone into the charger as she waits.

“Yes, Mrs. Gautier, I’ll make the changes to your Will and fax you a copy to look over. Okay, goodbye." He hangs up the phone, letting out a gusty sigh as he leans back in his chair. “That woman is going to drive me insane before I get my money.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been working on her Will for a month now and she’s added and removed her son three different times.” Libby snorts, watching as he comes over to sit on the edge of her desk. “I hear that you had quite an adventure last night.”

“Cyrus fancies himself a ghost hunter or something. I’m just wondering how many times he was dropped on his head as an infant.”

“He said you were attacked….” He trails off, giving her the chance to fill in the blanks or change the subject. She debated with the idea of lying, but then decided that honesty is the best policy. Also, Ben has a superpower to know when someone was lying and that usually led to him hiding all the snacks she had hidden in his apartment.

“Yep, that’s what happened.” Ben continues watching her as she types in her password and pulls up a Word document, the blonde waiting for any unimportant calls to type up and send to him after work. "I was attacked by a fucking ghost that I threw against a wall before he could do any real damage." She sends him a sharp look over her shoulder, not liking the way he was hovering like she was about to fall apart.

“Libby—”

"Can we get to work or are you a therapist now?" Her voice has gone hard and she hates herself for snapping at him like that. She’s never used that tone with him before, not even when he dropped her phone in the toilet. It’s not his fault that her dad could give post-alcohol Jack Torrance a run for his money. Ben sighs, getting off the desk and spinning the chair around so that Libby’s facing him.

"I may not be a therapist, but I happen to know something that relaxes plenty of people and you look like you could use it," he says, his lips brushing her ear with every word. "I have no appointments today, we could go back to my apartment and spend the rest of the day in bed." Libby purses her lips, considering his proposal. It _has_ been a while since she’s gotten laid and she could definitely use the post-orgasm stress relief.

“Fine, but we’re cuddling afterwards.”

 

 

“I’m not doing it,” Libby states, looking down at the lingerie Ben had given her almost seven months ago now. “Have you ever worn lace before? It fucking itches.” Ben chuckles lowly, pulling her flush against him and giving her one of those kisses that made her want to pop her leg up. She didn’t figure now was the time for a Princess Diaries reference, though. “I’m still not doin’ it.”

"I'll give you fifty dollars."

“The lingerie alone cost more than fifty bucks.” She holds the scrap of fabric up for him to see the immaculate stitching and the detailing in the lace, the way the inside was carefully put together so that the amount of lace actually touching her belly was muffled by silk. “Either this was closer to seventy or Victoria told you her secret.”

“Fifty and I’ll make you waffles in the morning.”

“Done.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m easily bribed when food is involved.” She grabs the bag and disappears into the bathroom, his disbelieving laugh following after her. She undresses out of the high-waisted skirt and blouse she’d worn to his firm, taking a moment to reapply some deodorant and brush her teeth (she’s hugely grateful that he suggested moving some of her toiletries to his place after their second month together).

She pulls on the silken panties first and then the thigh high stockings before lacing herself loosely into the babydoll so that there would be no marks left behind from the lace edging. It wasn’t so bad, and the silk felt nice against her skin, so she figured she could deal with it long enough for Ben to tear it back off again. She lets her hair out of the up-do and teases it with her fingers until it looks suitably mussed for the occasion.

When she walks back into the bedroom Ben’s sprawled on his bed with a tumbler of whisky in one hand and the TV remote in the other, flicking through the channels at lightening speed. He nearly chokes on his drink when he finally looks away from NCIS, quickly setting the glass and remote on the nightstand as he straightens up.

"Change of plans, I'll give you two hundred dollars if you don't throw that away."

“I’ll have to consult the Fates about that first,” she returns, crossing the room and seating herself in his lap. His hands run up her legs until they reach mid-thigh, squeezing and massaging the muscles through the silk. Libby leans forward to capture his lips in a mind-numbing kiss, enjoying the nutmeg taste of the whiskey and the cinnamon gum Ben practically lived on.

He doesn’t offer up any complaints when she starts biting, sucking, and licking her way down his throat and stomach, leaving a trail of red marks and goosebumps in her wake. She loved seeing his reactions, the way his mouth fell open when she nipped at a hipbone and how his breath stuttered out when she flicked her tongue over the head of his dick in a kitten lick. She teases him for a moment before swallowing him down with practiced ease, moaning when she feels his long fingers tangling in her hair.

 _‘Our song is the slamming screen doors, sneaking out late, tapping on your window….’_ Libby and Ben both make startled noises when Taylor Swift begins to yell at them from somewhere in the corner, Libby coming up for air to glare at her discarded purse.

“No,” Ben protests, already moving to grab at the thin strap of her lingerie. “No, just ignore it and it’ll go away!” Libby makes him stew for a minute, until her phone actually does go quiet, before making her way slowly back up along his body. “Oh, thank fuck.” One of his hands stays in her hair, the other moving along her side to squeeze her ass through the sodden panties.

“Ben,” she moans, wriggling as he flips them over so that he was on top. “Please, please….” He slides two fingers under the elastic of her panties, rubbing featherlight circles around her clit before dipping inside, moving at a slow rhythm that was meant to drive her insane. She knew what this was, it was payback for teasing him earlier, but she needed _more goddammit_. “Benny, I need….”

“What do you need, Princess?”

“I need….” She trails off with a gasp as a third finger joins the other two, not quite fast or hard enough for her to come. “I need you.” He lets out a breathy laugh that morphs into a low groan as he slides into her, teeth sinking into the sensitive flesh of Libby’s shoulder. He doesn’t move for a few seconds, making sure she was used to the feel of him before beginning the slow thrusts that hit just the right spot inside of her.

“Fuck, Libby,” he groans, pulling her hips snug against his as he picked up the tempo. Libby wraps her legs around his hips, face buried in the crook of his neck so she could breathe in the sandalwood and coffee that really shouldn’t work so well together.

“Yes,” she moans, repeating the word over and over as he thrusts harder. Blunt nails dig into her thigh and sharper ones leave crescents in his shoulders, the pain and pleasure like an electric shock right to the brain as her back arches and her toes curl. She meets him thrust for thrust as the pleasure swells in her belly, chasing her release like it’s the only thing that’ll keep her alive.

Libby flips them over, tangling her fingers with his on the pillow and watching with half-closed eyes as Ben’s lips part in a wordless cry. He kept his eyes on hers through it all, looking at her like she was his entire world as he twitched and throbbed beneath her, giving over just seconds before she followed suit under the tidal wave of bliss. She collapses beside him on the bed, floating high above all her problems. “I love you.” Libby’s head snaps to the side, reading the open expression that Ben rarely allowed anyone to see. There was an uncertain vulnerability there, like a kid that was asking out its first crush and expecting to be shoved into the dirt.

“I love you, too.” And it shocked her even more that she was telling the truth, letting those precious words slip out when she’d struggled with them so much before. When was the last time she’d said that to someone that wasn’t a stuffed teddy bear named Mr. Hugglesworth? She might have been four, a day when her father had felt guilty and took her out for ice cream with extra sprinkles, and the words had been whispered to him when he tucked her in that night.

“C’mere.” He holds his arms open, letting her snuggle close against his chest with his arms secure weights around her. This was safety, it was a stability she’d never thought existed outside of old TV shows. She could stay in his arms forever, just listening to him breathe and the sound of NCIS playing in the background. She probably would have fallen asleep if her phone didn’t start ringing again.

_‘Our song is the slamming screen doors, sneaking out late, tapping on your window….’_

“I’m going to kill Diana the next time she visits.”


	4. Weekly Check-Ups

Diana Saffron was in the middle of a strip tease when her phone started to ring, the old Taylor Swift song making Robert’s head fall in disappointment against the back of the couch. It was almost amusing that he knew her best friend would come first until Di was sure that the blonde wasn’t being brutally murdered in some creep’s basement.

_‘When we’re on the phone and you talk real slow ‘cause it’s late and your mama don’t know! Our song is the way you laugh, the first date “man, I didn’t kiss her, and I should have”! And when I got home….’_

She crosses the room and answers the phone, fixing her top as she went. “So, you’re still alive,” she says by way of greeting. “That’s always a plus.”

“Am I,” Libby asks. “Because I thought I was in Hell.” There’s a muffled sound of a door opening on her end and then loud music was playing through the speaker, the type of classical that could send a cat into fits, then the door was closing again. “He’s been playing that crap all night and whacked my hand with his cane when I tried to turn it off.”

“What the fuck?”

“Granted, I _did_ try to turn the music off by throwing an antique wood carving at the fancy stereo system.”

“That’s the best way to do it, really.” Diana plops down on the couch next to Robert, curled up against his side and smiling as he wraps an arm around her shoulders. She loved the goofy science teacher more than she’d thought possible, even if he did tend to ramble about alternate universes in his sleep. “Other than torture-by-music, how’s your week been?”

“Well, I got the shit beat out of me by a ghost, so there’s that. Let’s see, uh…. Oh, I found out that even strong lawyer types that practically inhale protein shakes for breakfast still freak out when they find a spider in their shower.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Ben’s getting his side x-rayed right now to make sure he didn’t do any real damage when he fell.” Robert lets out a loud snort of laughter at that, trying his best to muffle it in his hand. “Is that Cook?”

“Yep. You wanna say hi?”

“Just give him a big hug for me.” Diana does just that, breathing in the smell of sawdust and Old Spice. “Did his ex-wife finally move out? You’re usually home by now.”

“Elaine moved in with her sister, so we’ve got the house to ourselves.” And, dear sweet lord, Diana would live in their shower if she could because that thing was _magical_. It worked out muscles in her back and shoulders that she didn’t even know she had. “We’ve been binge watching Parks and Rec for the past few hours.”

“That sounds so great. I tried to get Ben to watch that and he just complained through the entire first season. He doesn’t even like Ron.”

“There’s something wrong with that man. Who doesn’t like Ron?”

“Right? I think he’s just jealous because he can’t grow a mustache.” Diana laughs, wondering how pissed the lawyer would be if she started sending him screenshots of Ron’s mustache as retribution for getting her friend obsessed with big bands. “So, what were you guys doing other than the Parks and Rec thing?”

“I was giving Rob a strip tease.”

“I can call back later if you want to finish.”

“Nah, he can suck it up until later.”

“Does he have to,” Robert whines.

“I’ll blow you later if you stop complaining.”

“Done.” Libby’s laughing her ass off on the other end, one of those full-body laughs that Diana knows has her shoulders shaking.

“Hold on,” she says when she can breathe again,” I’m getting a text.” The line goes quiet for a minute and then Libby’s back on, a little more breathless than before. “Okay, so there’s no broken bones for our beloved lawyer, but he does have a concussion, so I’ll have to stay with him tonight to keep him awake. Any ideas on how to do that all night?”

“Lord of the Rings special extended editions.”

“I knew there was a reason we kept Cook around besides his booze.”

“I know,” Diana smiles,” it’s always so shocking when he’s actually helpful.” Rob makes a sound of offense, pinching at her side in retaliation. “I’ll Skype you later to make sure you’re both wide awake.”

“Thanks. I love you, Di.”

“Love you too.” Diana ends the call and tosses her phone onto the coffee table, relaxing into Robert’s side with a content hum. He keeps his arm around her shoulders, cheek resting against the top of her head. She could easily fall asleep like this, all loose limbs and warmth with music playing softly in the background. “I kind of want to watch Lord of the Rings now.”

“Me too,” he murmurs. “Maybe we could Skype Libby and Ben and watch it with them, so we can see his reaction the first time he sees an Uruk-Hai.”

“And the good ideas just keep coming.”

“Yeah, I’m a regular genius these days.”


	5. Playing God in a Junkyard

When Dennis told Libby that they were going on another field trip that night, her first thought was the damage done when they had captured Harold and his mother. All things considered, puke coating her brand new sneakers was preferable to being dragged around a musty basement, but she was still a tad salty about having to throw the fifty-dollar shoes in the trach can.

Instead of wearing the clothes she has on, she changes into a pair of blue jeans and a Ravenclaw hoodie that she’d gotten a year ago and was as threadbare as her old teddy bear. She’s just finishing up on putting her hair into two braids when Cyrus knocks on the bathroom door with his cane.

"Hurry up, Elizabeth. You don't have to look nice, you just have to do your job!" She sticks her tongue out at the door, intentionally taking longer than necessary to adjust her beret so that it didn’t mess up her hair too badly. She waits until his footsteps have faded away before leaving the safety of the bathroom, slipping her feet into a pair of combat boots and heading outside to where the crew were waiting.

“Where are we going,” she asks as she slides into the backseat of Cyrus’ car.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Dennis grumbles from the front seat. _If Dennis doesn't know, then Cyrus must be worried about him bolting before we can find the ghost_. With a sigh, Libby pops in her earbuds and drowns the rest of the world out as Paper Hearts begins to play. She bobs her head along to the soothing beat of the song, focusing on checking the wall inside her mind and the power she kept behind it. She’s down to twenty-seven bricks now, gaining control inch by inch over the telekinesis.

It ends up taking two hours before the car begins to slow down outside an old junkyard, the big rig in front of them mowing down the gates and the yellow police tape that had been holding them closed. Looking out the window, she can see more police tape wrapped around high stacks of cars, fluttering on the breeze and snapping against rusted metal. _What the fuck are we getting ourselves into now?_

Dennis and Libby share nervous glances when the cars all come to a stop and they’re forced to get out. Most of the crew have clear parkas over their clothes in case the rain that been threatening all day decides to pay a visit, but Cyrus is too proud to cover up his tailored suit. Hell, even Dennis has one pulled over his sweater, though his bright orange bellbottoms will be completely ruined in a downpour.  

“You always remind me of Shaggy when you wear those,” she tells him, trying to take his mind off their job for a moment.

"I look nothing like Shaggy," he denies with a shake of his head and a smile.

"Oh no, honey, you would make a perfect Shaggy." His smile turns into a groan of pain, his hand clutching at his head and making her remember just how serious this is. With a frown, she slides on her glasses with shaking hands and taps into the rage that feeds her telekinesis. “Don’t forget to count your bricks.” Looking around, she sees that speakers for the containment spells have already been set up and Joseph, an older man that always seems to be in the group that Cyrus handpicks, gives her a nervous smile.

"Is it bad tonight," Cyrus asks as Dennis collapses in the mud beside him. Dennis gives him a look that Libby figures is a silent way of saying _go fuck yourself_. She can't blame him, this ghost hunting shit sucks.

"Bad," Dennis asks sarcastically. “That's one way to describe it. _Insane_ seems a little more appropriate." He rubs to top of his head, something he's started doing when he begins to let his wall down to do his job. Libby reaches out with her ability to squeeze his shoulder in a show of solidarity among broke psychics. "It feels like he's breathing down my neck, man. We should get out of here while we still can."

“Noted.” Cyrus turns his gaze on Libby and the eighteen year old gives a shrug in response. She’s learned that her professional opinion is worth less than a penny to Cyrus in the long run and it was better to just save her breath. He takes a picture of the junkyard from one of his men, studying it for a moment as Dennis sneaks a prescription bottle out of his pocket. "Clean this place up and then locate our guests." He goes to hand the picture off to Dennis and changes his mind halfway through the motion, knocking the pill bottle out of Dennis’ hand using his cane, the little white pills scattering over the muddy ground.

"Ahh! I just need to take the edge off!"

“If the child over here can function without pills, then so can you!” Libby ducks her head, suddenly glad that her adoptive father isn’t the type to go through her drawers because he’d probably be pissed to know that she had a stash of weed under her underwear to help her nerves.

“Yeah, the child’s right here,” she says, waving her hand a little. “Totally within earshot.” Cyrus ignores her as he hauls Dennis up by the front of his turtleneck, shoving the picture against his chest with an expectant look. Libby stamps down on the urge to fling Cyrus into the mud, choosing instead to go talk to Joseph as he hands out the wireless mics. The old man offers up a kind smile, helping her get the mic in place and turning it on.

“That should do it, sweetie,” he says kindly, patting her arm. She smiles in response, fidgeting with a loose string she found on the sleeve of her hoodie. This is a massive job, the team bigger than any of the other times they picked up ghosts, and they looked legitimately worried that something would go wrong. Libby’s got to be honest here, seeing grown ass men that could probably go head-to-head with Jason Momoa jumping at every little noise didn’t exactly inspire faith in her.

“Why do I get the feeling that we’re about to get our asses handed to us?”

“It’s probably just nerves. In any case, be careful tonight and keep an eye out. I hear the guy we’re capturing is pretty nasty.”

“You need to work on your pep talks, Joe.” She wraps her arms around herself as she looks around for any sign of dead things. The entire junkyard has an eerie vibe to it that she doesn’t like; maybe it’s because of all the cars that could come crashing down at any time or maybe it's the fact that a ghost is here, watching and waiting for the best time to strike.

“Go on and take these over to Cyrus and Dennis before you work yourself up into a panic attack.” She nods, taking the mics from him and walking over to the other two men as they began to walk further into the yard.

“Is he supposed to be a truck driver,” Dennis was asking when she joined them again, taking his mic from her.

“ _Breaker_ is just a nickname that the locals stuck him with,” Cyrus answers, sliding his mic in place. “They had to exorcise their demons somehow.” He looks at Dennis out of the corner of his eye, waiting for the other man’s shoulders to relax just the slightest bit. “Of course, it could be because he broke his victims into as many pieces as possible."

“That doesn’t sound ominous in the slightest,” Libby remarks dryly, stuffing her hands in her pants pockets. As if the junkyard itself was enraged about the disrespect being shown, one of the cars at the top of a pile topples to the ground and would have crushed the three of them had Libby not reacted soon enough, her ability pushing the smashed car a few feet away. She cuts her gaze up to the top of the stack just in time to see a hulking figure flicker out of view.

"I _hate_ being rushed."

"Do you hate it as much as you hate your receding hairline?" She takes on an innocent expression at his offended glare, looking pointedly at the top of his head where the hair had begun to disappear. "Don't blame me because you got the shit end of the gene pool."

“You little—”

“But this is different than the others,” Dennis interrupts, distracting Cyrus before he could smack Libby with is cane. Cyrus gives Libby a look that promises he’d get her later for her little comment, then rolls his shoulders and focuses entirely on the other psychic. _Psychics unite_ , Libby muses _, I should put that on a tee shirt_.

"Then you'll get a bonus.”

“You can barely pay me as it is! Hell, the only reason you have a telekinetic is because you adopted her!” There’s no arguing with those facts, Cyrus was going broke quick and Libby’s frequent shopping sprees weren’t exactly helping his dwindling bank account. Why should she care if the old bastard ends up begging for scraps? She’s still got a trust fund that her uncle Jace set up a few weeks before her dad killed him.

“Once this ghost is captured, I’ll never have to worry about that again. Now do your damn job.” Dennis reaches out a hand, looking determined yet scared of what might happen, and places it firmly on Cyrus' shoulder. He’s barely had a chance to squeeze when Cyrus is shoving him away, holding up his cane threateningly. “Haven’t you heard what curiosity did to the cat?”

“Did you hear what satisfaction is capable of,” Libby shoots back. “Scientists hate it.”

“Don’t be a smartass.” Their staring match is interrupted when three of the crew drag a struggling man and woman over to them. Libby knew them well enough by now, a couple of dolts that actually believed all ghosts were friendly and wouldn’t hurt a soul unless they were provoked. Libby had the scars on her right ankle to safely debunk that myth.

“Looks like those meddling kids are at it again. What’s the matter, Kalina? This the only way he’ll bang you?” The woman fights to get free of the man’s hold on her arms, but he just yanks her back before she could do any real damage. She was pretty, might even be beautiful if she’d just brush the short shock of dark red hair.

“They’re certainly persistent, aren’t they?” Cyrus almost looks amused at the whole fiasco, brown eyes glittering. “Let me guess, you’re both carrying those ridiculous quicksilver flares?” He pokes at the satchel Kalina had situated on her shoulder, the leather worn from constant use. “Still have that quaint little magical book?”

"These aren't animals you're capturing," Kalina yells," they're human beings!"

"Yeah, _dead_ human beings," Dennis scoffs. "Maybe you should join Greenpeace and throw blood on old ladies’ furs." Cyrus chuckles at the jibe, the first positive emotion Libby’s seen him use in months. Kalina spits on Cyrus’ shoes and the amusement takes a sharp dive off a cliff, replaced by his usual disinterested sneer. Libby’s got a running bet with Dennis that Cyrus is actually some kind of robot and his emotion chip was damaged.

"Who are you to play God?"

"Playing's for children,” he tells her with a grim set to his jaw.

“You’ll never pull it off,” Damon states confidently. “Not without the right spells or your thirteenth ghost.” He was handsome in a Hollywood sort of way, shaggy dark blond hair and sharp cheekbones that belonged in a magazine instead of in a dump like this.

“Can I,” Libby asks, making a vague shooing motion with her hands. At Cyrus’ approving nod, she faces the ‘spirit liberators’ and uses her ability to send them sliding backwards through the dump until she can no longer hear their protesting shouts. “Those guys make me rethink my position on situational murder.” She turns, finding herself alone since the others had wandered off while she was dealing with the Mystery Inc. knockoffs. “That’s just rude.”

Libby starts to walk again, following the sounds of an argument until she finds her friend standing in the middle of a path. Cyrus was standing high above them on one of the stacks of old cars and trash, looking like a King surveying his kingdom.

“Release the bait,” Cyrus demands into his mic.

“What bait,” Dennis asks, voice raising an octave as the panic set in. "We've never needed bait before!" There’s a loud rumbling as the tanker truck that broke the gates starts up, the psychics turning just in time to see it turn the corner and head straight for them. The headlights make the blood spewing out of the sides of it look almost like rubies as it coats the cars on either side of it, pebbling on the ground.

“We gotta move,” Libby states, grabbing Dennis’ arm and hauling him out of the truck’s path. They end up behind one of the glass and metal cubes meant to contain the ghost, peering at the big rig as it continues to rumble their way at a steady pace until it’s only a few feet away.

“Power up the cube,” Cyrus shouts through the ear pieces. The doors to the cube slide open, the lights inside flickering on thanks to the power surging into by the cables connected to the doors and the truck. "Start transmitting." The Latin spells blare from the speakers, meant for a specific brand of ghost that Cyrus has spent years studying. _The Juggernaut_ , Libby realizes once she translates the big symbol etched into the glass among the smatterings of Latin phrases. _Sounds like some kind of pro-wrestler_.

The guest of honor doesn’t take long to appear, beginning to tear his way through the crew like a hot knife through butter; tall with the muscle tone of a blue collar worker, he was riddled with bullet holes and looked exactly like the kind of guy you’d see on the news for turning people into furniture. Stacks of cars tumble down on some of the workers, loud squeals of metal intertwined with terrified screams of dying men.

In blind panic, one of the men runs right into the cube with the Juggernaut hot on his heels, the doors sliding shut to trap them both inside. Libby watches on in horror as red sprays over the glass, the man tossed from side to side by the giant, screams turning into pained gurgles until the only sounds were the crime scene tape snapping in the wind and Kalina screaming for help.

Libby moves away from the cube, stiff with fear and exhaustion as she shuffles towards the entrance. She barely made it a full ten feet before she spotted Cyrus and Joseph lying among the rubble; Joseph was torn in two, his bottom half buried under the mangled remains of a Cadillac, and Cyrus was right next to Joseph’s legs with a hunk of metal embedded in his throat.

_What’s going to happen to us now?_


	6. Meeting new Family

After adjusting her belt around her waist and making sure it didn’t make her blouse crease too badly, Libby strides into Ben’s kitchen and snatches a cup of coffee out of his hand. It was Starbucks and the name on the side of it read _Livvy_ just like it always did because apparently misspelling names was a job requirement for that place. She didn’t really mind it as long as her mocha latte kept her awake on the long drive to Arthur Kriticos' apartment.

“Why do I have to go to my new popped-out-of-nowhere cousin’s house again,” she asks, reaching out to straighten his tie. “I didn’t even know he existed until Cyrus made me help him with that stupid video last month.”

“Because you’ll be staying with them for a few days until I can convince the manager to give me the bigger apartment across the hall,” Ben answers distractedly. “Plus, it’d be a boring drive without you there to entertain me with movie trivia.” She scoffs, shaking her head and staring down at her shoes. "Jesus, what has you so pissed off?"

"The fact that I get nothing after living with that asshole for a year. I worked for him and he didn't even give me the key to the damn liquor cabinet!" Ben rolls his eyes, digging around in his coat pocket before tossing her a little silver key. "Is this what I think it is?"

"That's the key for your liquid courage, yes." She stares down at it for a moment, thinking of what all Cyrus might have stashed in there; money, jewelry, something else that was worth a lot and she could sell on eBay. With a grin, she stuffs the key in her bra for safekeeping. "Do I not get a thank you for that little present?"

“Maybe when we get back home.”

“Is that at least a definite maybe?”

“The chances of me blowing you go down the more you poke and prod, you know.” She sets her cup on the counter and presses her lips against his in a teasing kiss that had him following her when she pulled back. “Be a good boy and I’ll give you what you want when we get back to your firm.”

“I’ve heard that before,” he mumbles with a frown. “We better get going or it’ll be dark before we get back. Come on.” He tugs on her skirt, Libby grabbing her coffee and trailing after him down to the parking lot where his Jaguar was waiting for them. It comes to life with a purr, still carrying that new car scent despite being a year old. “How would you feel about moving in with me once I get that new apartment? Full time, I mean.”

“Wouldn’t you get annoyed by all my bad habits?”

“Of course I will, but that’s a two-way street, sweetheart. I’ll keep my mouth shut about your midnight snacking if you promise not to complain about me playing jazz as I get ready for work in the mornings.”

“You got yourself a deal, Mister Moss.” The rest of the drive passes with easy conversation, taking about how they’d decorate their apartment when they got it and a trip back to Libby’s hometown to visit with Davey, Cook and Diana for an afternoon. It ends up taking a few hours to make it fully into the city and another hour on top of that before they were able to pull into the cramped parking lot for Arthur’s apartment building.

The asphalt is cracked in places with weeds growing through it under her heels, streaks of tar showing where there had been an attempt to fill in some of the worse crevices. The building itself isn’t much better, set in a lower-class part of the city with security wire covering the windows on the lower floors and a busted lock on the front doors that lead into the lobby.

“Are you sure you have the right address,” Libby asks, looking over at her boyfriend.

“The GPS says that this is the place and I double-checked with Arthur over the phone. Do me a favor and stay close, alright? Who knows what kind of junkies live in this place.” She loops her arm through one of his, the pair of them moving inside and up to the second floor where the walls are stained yellow with nicotine. The hall they make their way down is musty and dark, the bare bulbs overhead flickering and on the verge of throwing them into darkness.

“Remind me to be thankful that Cyrus was the one that adopted me instead of this guy.”

“Noted.” They stop in front of the last door on the right, a brass twenty hanging crookedly on by a threadbare screw. They share one last look before facing forward again, Ben knocking on the door with a little more pressure than necessary. There’s no doubting that the man that opens the door is related to Cyrus, sharing the same dark hair, eyes, and prominent nose; Arthur’s hair holds more of a curl and his smile is kind, but he certainly wouldn’t need a DNA test. “Mister Kriticos?”

“That’s right,” Arthur nods, looking frazzled. He has a fresh stain covering the front of his gray shirt and he smelled like fresh coffee. “You’re, uh….” The man must be scatterbrained if he can’t remember the fact that Ben introduced himself over the phone just two days ago.

“I’m Ben Moss.” He shakes the man’s hand, giving him a quick once-over and looking less than impressed with what he sees. “This young lady is Elizabeth. Your uncle adopted her last year.” Arthur shakes Libby’s hand with a warm, somewhat confused smile on his lips.

"Please, come in." Arthur steps aside, but Ben stays out in the hall, looking pointedly at Arthur's shirt.

"Is now a good time?" Arthur laughs, shaking off Ben's judging expression.

"As good a time as any. Please, um, just give me one minute to change." Libby follows Ben into the cramped apartment, toys and clothing strewn all over the place. It was homey all the same, personal touches pretty much covering every single free space while Libby’s house was impersonal and cold. It reminds her of Davey’s house, of finger paintings pinned to the fridge and awards hung up on the walls because he was proud of his kids.

In the kitchen is a girl that looks to be around Libby’s age, a little boy with spiked brown hair, and a pretty black woman with curlers in her hair. It’s not until she does a double-take that she realizes the little boy had been in the first grade class she’d been an aid for in high school. He seems to recognize her too, jumping up from his chair with a bright smile and launching himself into her arms for a hug.

“Hey, kiddo,” she laughs, wrapping her arms loosely around him. “What have you been up to lately?”

“Annoying my sister,” he answers, turning and pointing at the nineteen year old standing by the sink. “Kathy, this is the lady I told you about last year! She played dodgeball with us in gym class.”

“So you’re the one that taught him to aim for the face,” Kathy remarks, but she’s smiling to muffle any sort of blow. She was pretty and tanned, a straight nose and full lips with dark brown-blonde hair that fell in wisps to frame an oval face.

“Keeps the bullies away,” Libby shrugs, wrapping a protective arm around Bobby’s shoulders. Ben raises an eyebrow at the action, like he approved of how she acted around kids. "I'm Libby, Ben's sidekick for the day." Kathy smiles at her, both her and the other woman shaking Libby’s hand.

"I'm Kathy and this is Maggie." Ben nods in greeting to them, looking around the small kitchen with a slight sneer. Maggie is slim and pretty, a small nose and big brown eyes with a small bust; she has long legs and could probably be a model considering she could pull off sweats and a spaghetti strap like nobody’s business.

“It’s nice to meet you both.” Arthur walks into the kitchen again, sporting a new shirt and pulling on a suit jacket while Ben sets Cyrus’ laptop on the kitchen table. Everyone crowds around him to see what was on the video, Libby moving to stand behind where Ben had sat down. _Maybe Cyrus added something, like me getting an inheritance so I can fix up the car Dennis got me three weeks ago for my birthday_.

“As I told you over the phone, I represent the estate of your uncle Cyrus,” Ben explains, nodding at the log in screen. Libby leans over his shoulder to type in Cyrus’ password, ignoring the way Ben was ogling the small glimpse of cleavage that the low neck of her blouse revealed.

"We have an Uncle Cyrus," Kathy asks.

"Uh, had," Arthur nods. “I only met him a handful of times as a kid, he wasn't too popular. My dad said he squandered the family fortune." Those last words had barely passed his lips when Kathy perks up, her brown eyes lit with excitement.

"We have a family fortune?"

"Well, no, Cyrus squandered it."

“Most of it,” Libby corrects as she straightens up. “I squandered a good portion of it when I got high and decided I needed five pounds of gummy Lifesavers.” Arthur arches a brow at that, automatic disapproval that makes Libby’s stomach twist nervously. “You try living with Cyrus for a year without having any weed to relax you.”

“That’s fair, I guess.” Ben clears his throat loudly, sending Libby a pointed look until she lowered her eyes with her cheeks tinged pink.

"Cyrus recorded this message six weeks ago," Ben continues as though he’d never been interrupted. “He asked that it be played for you in the event of his death." He presses the space bar and the video starts playing, revealing Cyrus seated at his desk in his office. That had been the first time Libby was allowed in that room, one of the few he actually bothered to keep locked.

"Arthur," Cyrus greets," it's good to talk to you. Sadly, if you're watching this now, it means I'm no longer among the living. Happily, that makes you and your family my sole beneficiaries. I've instructed my lawyer, Mister Moss, to deliver the essential elements in my last will and testament. Give it to them, Ben." Ben pulls the key to the front door out of his pocket, holding the misshapen thing up for Arthur to take.

“Old bastard,” Libby mutters under her breath. There’s a brief lapse where the video had been edited, the slim cigar disappearing as he frowns at the camera.

"Don't give such a sour look, Elizabeth. I've left you your inheritance in your room, clean it and you'll find it."

“What’s the key to,” Arthur asks, wiggling it slightly between his thumb and forefinger.

“That is the key to your new house.” The cigar is back again, blue smoke curling in the lamplight. Libby’s nose scrunches up at the remembered smell of it, recalling how she’d gone to bed the night the video was recorded with the scent clinging to her jammies. The video box shifts to the bottom right corner while three other frames fill up the screen, changing every now and then to show different parts of the house, including Libby’s room. Her hand flashes out until that particular view changes, using her finger to cover a pair of Ben’s boxers that had been left at the foot of her bed.

“Really, Libby?” She doesn’t say anything, blushing hard until her bedroom changed to the connecting bath with her myriad of body washes and the small collection of rubber duckies dotting the counter.

"This house is the fruit of my life's work." When the videos shift again to reveal other bathrooms, Kathy practically begins to vibrate with excitement.

"Everyone gets their own bathrooms," Kathy hisses excitedly.

"Is this for real," Arthur asks Ben in a whisper.

"It is a one-of-a-kind home," Cyrus cuts in," it's my home, actually.  I have no complaints, I've led an interesting life, I have seen some amazing things." All the videos disappear for a split second and then Cyrus' reappears in the direct center. "The only regret I have is that I never really got to know my nephew Arthur, nor appreciate the love of a family like you have. Elizabeth has only shared my home for a year, not nearly enough time for us to truly have that father-daughter bond that you share with Kathy." Kathy and Arthur share a look, their eyes shining in anticipation.

“Kind of hard to have a bond when your dad is a massive douche,” she grumbles bitterly, arms crossed over her chest. The closest thing she’s ever had to a father-daughter bond was when she lived with Davey; Saturday nights spent on the couch with a movie and popcorn, Monday dinners to discuss that week’s schedule and who would need to be driven where. _God, I miss him_.

"This house is my attempt to make up for that. The only request I make of you is that you let Elizabeth continue to live there until she can find a place of her own. Enjoy." The video disappears again, reaching the end. Cyrus’ smile had vanished the moment the video camera had been turned off, rushing her out of his office like she was something disgusting. She was just starting to back up when the video popped back onto the screen, Cyrus looking smug. "Perhaps we'll meet again. In another life."

Libby reaches out to shut the laptop with a scowl, ignoring Ben’s huff of laughter. She had enough of Cyrus popping up like a bad penny when the guy was still alive, but she didn’t have to put up with that shit when the old bastard was six feet under.

"When can we see it," Kathy asks.

"The house is yours whenever you'd like," Ben replies. "Actually, Libby and I are heading up there after work if you and your wife and kids would like to tag along.” Maggie makes a protesting noise and holds up a hand, shaking her head.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," she says loudly," time-out. I am _not_ the Mrs. here."

"Uh," Arthur says, looking pained," my wife, uh... M-my wife is..."

"Our mom got burned to death in a fire," Bobby supplies.

"Bobby," Kathy scolds.

"What? It's true."

"That's enough, Robert," Arthur says sadly. "Mister Moss, uh, just exactly where is this place?"

"Just a couple of hours drive from here depending on traffic," Ben tells him as he puts the laptop back into his briefcase. “It’s on the outskirts of Willow Grove, just up the Parkway. It's in a gorgeous area, but I have to warn you, your uncle liked his privacy. There isn't a neighbor for hours."

 

 

“How the hell is this even possible,” Ben grouses, trying to rearrange the back of her dress. Somehow the tulle beneath the pink batiste fabric was tangled and didn’t want to lie flat again. Libby rolls her eyes, bent forward over the counter in Ben’s private bathroom and regretting her choice of the skater dress. “How does this happen?” She doesn’t answer, giving him a pointed look that said he knew exactly how it happened.

“Oh, don’t even,” she starts in a low hiss. A knock at the door makes the both of them jump, Ben quickly covering her mouth with his hand.

"Yes?"

"The Kriticos family is here for you Ben," Hannah calls to him through the door. “Maybe you should get your secretary back from her lunch break to do her job.” Hannah’s voice is cold, and Libby could basically feel the bitch’s glare burning a hole through the wood. "I have them waiting just outside your office."

“Thank you, Miss Manly.” He waits until they can no longer hear the clicking of Hannah’s heels against hardwood before he releases Libby with a sigh, quickly straightening his suit. Libby gives a frustrated sigh, reaching up the back of her dress and untangling the underlay until the skirt of her dress was lying flat just above her knees. They have to share the mirror to fix their hair, Libby straightening her ponytail and then using a tissue to wipe at the smudge of eyeliner.

“Babe, could you… Yeah, thanks.” She takes the tube of concealer he produces, using it to cover some of the liner beneath her eye that didn’t want to come off.

"Are you ready?" Libby nods, following him out of the bathroom and waiting for him to be situated at his desk before opening the office door. Her new family is ushered inside, Arthur in the lead to go over the directions on how to get to the house. “Libby, you go grab some dinner and I’ll pick you up when we’re ready to leave here.”

"Sounds good to me." She grabs her purse and strides out of the building and over to her car, tossing her purse to the passenger’s seat as she gets in. She sends a quick text to Dennis and smiles at his response before starting the car and driving to the other psychic’s house.

Dennis’ house is located in a nice neighborhood, a small one with chipped yellow paint and red tulips lining the driveway. He meets her outside, his arms crossed over his chest and a smile on his face. "Hey, Libby, you got someone here that wants to see you." A little girl comes sprinting out of the house and hits Libby’s legs hard enough to almost knock her off balance the second she was out of the car, all giggles and smiles.

“Hey, Amelia,” Libby says with a laugh. The two year old is Dennis’ from a previous marriage, born through IVF thanks to Dennis’ no-touching policy, able to spend three hours with her dad every other Wednesday until he’d completed some parenting classes. Cindy walks out next, dressed in Gucci sweats and an oversized shirt to hide her rounding belly.

"So, I, uh, guess I'll see you both next Wednesday unless the little guy decides to come early." Cindy nods, carefully walking down the porch steps with one hand on the railing and the other supporting her lower back. Cindy and Dennis were the rare divorcees that stayed friends afterward, though Dennis and Cindy's new husband were mortal enemies

"Libby," she greets breathlessly, taking Amelia's hand and leading her to the minivan. "Dennis, could you..." But he was already on his way, helping the toddler into her car seat and buckling her in. "Thanks, I had a good day today and I know Mel did, too." Dennis nods, giving his ex a soft smile and watching them drive off before leading Libby into the house, shutting the front door after them.

"Your bacon cheeseburger's in the kitchen." Libby nods, walking into the powder blue room and sitting at the little table, pulling the Braum’s bag over to her. "I thought you hated fast food."

“I do, but I’ve been craving this for the past couple of weeks,” she says, taking a huge bite and savoring the greasy bacon. Dennis sits across from her, sipping on his chocolate shake as he waited for her to come up for air. Once half of the burger had been inhaled, Libby steals a sip of his drink before getting to the real reason behind her visit. “We’re heading to the house in a couple of hours, so Arthur’s family can have the grand tour. Do you still have that, uh, power company jumpsuit that you used to get us into Dana Newman’s old job?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Because that's how you're gonna get inside and find your money."

* * *

“Oh, my God,” Libby gasps, turning the volume up on the radio,” I love this song!”

“Seriously,” Ben asks, unimpressed. “It’s a bunch of nonsense.”

“Yeah, but me and Di bonded over this song when she first came to live at Davey’s house.” Libby bobs her head in time with the beat, singing softly as they came closer and closer to their turn-off. “ _Underground like, who's it sound like, you all sound the same but you don't know my name. I believe in people lying, I believe in people dying, I believe in people trying_ ….”

“Who the hell is that?” Libby mutes the song and leans forward in her seat, taking in the power company truck and the man standing under the porchlight. They park behind the truck and get out, the others getting out of their station wagon and following the Ben and Libby up to the house. Ben ignores the excited chattering of the family, marching right up to the man dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit and a white hard hat, clearing his throat to get his attention.

“Oh, hey,” Dennis says as he turns around. “It’s about time somebody showed up." Dennis holds up his flashlight, the beam shining in Ben’s eyes just in case the other man recognized him. "Is this your place?" Arthur's family moves to look through the windows, letting Ben handle Dennis.

"Who are you," Ben asks, pushing the flashlight out of the way so he could see Dennis' face.

"I'm the power guy." Ben lifts the ID badge clipped to Dennis' outfit, but his hand is slapped away promptly with the butt of the flashlight. "Hands to yourself, man, we learned that rule in kindergarten.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because this monstrosity of a house is knocking out the power of the whole tri-quad area. I need to get inside and check the breakers." He has the flashlight held up again, shining it Ben's eyes every second or so to make sure there was no way he'd get a close look. Libby doubts Ben remembered him, they only met that one time.

"Could you come back tomorrow? Is that maybe a possibility?" Ben's slipped into his I'm-better-than-you voice, an arrogance that belongs to social engagements rather than the guy that could possibly turn your house into a time bomb.

"Oh, tomorrow? Let's see." Dennis holds up his clipboard, pretending to read from it. "Oh, there's about 5,570 houses right now without power. My bosses kind of frown on that, so..." The flashlight shines in Ben's eyes again and Libby can tell he's beginning to get irritated.

"Right, well, that isn't really our problem, is it?" Libby leaves them to their squabbling, moving to stand next to Bobby and tell him about the pool she convinced Cyrus to install in one of the rooms. It was a late birthday present, the only one she got from him and that was because he knew she’d just use his credit card to get it either way.

“Thank you,” Dennis says loudly in Ben’s face, drawing Libby’s attention back to them as he swings around to face Arthur and continues speaking in at a regular level,” Mister…?”

"Kriticos, Arthur Kriticos."

"It's quite a place you got."

"Yeah," Kathy agrees, playfully smacking Ben's shoulder," we're moving in."

"One step at a time," Arthur says, holding up the key. He turns it in the diamond-shaped lock, the key sliding smoothly out of his fingers as the mechanisms inside begin to turn soundlessly. Libby had freaked out the first time that happened to her and Bobby had a similar reaction when his excited grin morphs into a pout.

"Dad," Bobby whines," you broke it!" Libby pats his shoulder sympathetically, nodding back towards the house.

“Just wait for it, munchkin,” she promises quietly. He faces the house again in time to see all the lights turning on, the switch inside the lock doing its job.

"Wow, you can see right through it!"

"What," Dennis asks sarcastically," you guys couldn't afford any walls?"

"Guess Uncle Cyrus wasn't too keen on privacy," Arthur adds, with a sideways glance in Ben's direction.

With a whirring click the two glass doors in front of them part, allowing the group inside the initial entryway. It’s more like an airlock than anything, a place to wipe your feet before entering the main house. Ben closes the doors behind them, triggering the front doors to hiss open and allow everyone inside. Libby makes up the rear, walking in without any of the awe that she used to feel whenever she saw the antiques and displays. The living room is boring when compared to some of the other rooms, this one dedicated to random things like manuscripts, swords, and old telescopes.

"It's Latin." Arthur runs a hand over the wall with an eagerness Libby hadn't expected to see from someone his age. Libby pops in a piece of cinnamon gum, chewing it as a way to keep from biting her freshly manicured nails.

The house has been worked on since the last time Dennis was here nearly six months ago, new walls and decorations that Cyrus had obsessed over until they were in precisely the right places. "Cyrus, you crazy son of a bitch,” Dennis mutters under his breath, wandering further into the room. “What did you do?” Libby follows his gaze to the fifteen gold-plated circles that got increasingly smaller towards the center, taking up most of the floor in the main living room with little symbols etched into them with painstaking precision.

Libby walks over to him, making sure Ben wasn’t looking before speaking,” Are you ready?” He bites his lip nervously before nodding, setting his hat in a chair and rolling his shoulders back to feign confidence. _If he gets caught by himself, then Ben might try to beat his ass_. With a steadying breath, Dennis strides over to Ben and stops just inside his personal bubble.

“You wanna show me where the basement is hidden, so I can get the hell out of here? I got a show coming on in an hour.” Libby steps up and waves her hand a little to get Ben’s attention, trying to look helpful instead of devious.

“I can show him.” She sidles up to the pair, drawing Ben’s gaze. "You know, make sure he doesn't take things that don't belong to him."

"Fine," Ben agrees before facing Dennis. "Listen to me carefully though, you make one move to touch her and I'll have your ass.” His voice is low so that the others don’t overhear him, the look he sends Dennis’ way saying loud and clear that he wouldn’t object to shoving that flashlight up Dennis’ ass. “Understood?” Dennis nods hurriedly, gesturing for Libby to take the lead.

“Relax, Benny, this is almost over.” She presses a chaste kiss to his clean-shaven cheek, smiling when he turns so that he could have a real kiss. “And when we get home,” she murmurs, breath warm against his lips,” I’ll put on that lingerie you love so much.”

“Have I told you how much I love you today?”

“Mm, not lately.” He laughs softly, kissing her once more before she steps away from him. “You can show me how much you love me tonight, handsome.” She grips the sleeve of Dennis’ jumpsuit (careful not to actually touch _him_ ) and tugs him with her into the maze of hallways.

“Where are we going,” Dennis asks.

“Before we do anything else, I want to put on some shoes that don’t pinch my toes.”

“And then we find that freakin’ money.”


	7. Running From Ghosts

While the rest of the house was warm from the air blasting out of the vents, the basement was almost frigid, and Libby could feel goosebumps rising along the bare expanse of her legs all the way up to her lower thighs where her shorts stopped. When she shuts the door behind them, the only sounds are the slapping of shoes on the steps and a faint rustling in the darkness, illuminated only by the shaky beam of Dennis’ flashlight as he takes the lead. As they reached ground level Libby could hear a low, angry muttering in all directions, like they were surrounded.

“Oh my God,” she breathes out, recognizing the familiar cubes. The first time she came down here, she’d thought the few of them were just empty, but now she knew better. She knew what he kept trapped in those cages like feral animals, and he had added to them; the Torn Prince and the Bound Woman had been joined by ten others.

“What the hell was he thinking,” Dennis asks, apprehension clear in every line on his face. “This is fucking insane, keeping them right under where he sleeps.”

“I don’t think anyone would ever accuse Cyrus of being sane and reasonable.”

“But where’d he hide his money?” They make it past the first few cubes without incident, but then Dennis is lurching forward in front of the Pilgrimess’ cell, clutching at his head in pain. “Goddammit.” He makes it another few feet before the assault comes again, stumbling under the force with a groan of pain.

“Dennis, we should just get out of here,” Libby insists in a shaky voice, fighting the urge to grab him and run. He rushes over to the cubes, taking in the signs etched into the glass with nothing short of panic. The spells etched into the walls down in the basement interfered with Libby’s telekinesis enough that she couldn’t always make it work when she needed it to; it scares to her to think that the spells could keep her from keeping everyone safe should one of the ghosts break out somehow.

Dennis jerks violently, one of his hands shooting up to cover his face and knocking his glasses off, his boot coming down on them a second later before his legs give out. Libby moves away from him, back hitting one of the cubes as she waited for Dennis’ attack to settle only to have something bang against the glass and send her falling to the ground with a scream.

With shaking hands, she pulls on the special glasses and turns to find Ryan cackling madly, scratching at the glass with his nails as though he could tear his cube apart. Her hand moves to her right ankle where she still bore the puckered scars from the last time she came in contact with those sharpened nails.

“No,” she sobs, curling in on herself. "No, no, no!" She covers her ears with her hands to drown out the laughing, letting out a panicked shriek when Dennis latches onto one of her arms despite everything and begins to sprint out of the basement. It’s a miracle she was able to get onto her feet before they reached the steps, but she managed to keep pace with the taller man all the way to the library. Dennis doesn’t let her go until they were skidding to a stop in front of Ben and Arthur, snatching his hand back with disgust and fear clear in his expression.

“What the hell did you do to her,” Ben demands when he looks up from the paperwork scattered across the desk. He yanks Libby away from the other psychic, sitting her in one of the chairs and wrapping his overcoat around her shoulders. She’d kiss him if she wasn’t shaking so badly.

Dennis waves him off, leaning against the table and saying," Arthur, w-we have to talk." It was hard for him to get the words out and catch his breath at the same time, but he was doing better than she was at the moment. She couldn’t even make herself uncurl now that she had her knees against her chest again.

"What is the deal with the breakers," Arthur asks in annoyance, looking to Ben for the answer. Ben shrugs his shoulders, as confused and irritated as Arthur with some anger mixed in.

"There's nothing wrong with the breakers. I'm not the power guy. My name is Dennis Rafkin."

" _You're_ Dennis Rafkin," Ben interrupts, taking a step forward.

"Who's Dennis Rafkin," Arthur asks.

“That’s Dennis Rafkin,” Libby speaks up, voice hoarse as warm tears slip down her cheeks. “He and Cyrus have been working together for the past year or so.” She curls up further in the chair when Arthur’s gaze lands on her, her hands reaching up to grasp at the one Ben had on her shoulder. “I’ll let him fill you in on the details.

“Thanks for throwing me under the bus,” he grumbles, face shiny with sweat. “Alright, so Cyrus, Libby, and I used to hunt displaced spiritual energies.” Dennis paces anxiously, like to stop meant to get dragged into Hell by the ghosts downstairs. Arthur gives him the same look Libby gave Cook the first time he tried to explain the intricacies of Star Trek—a little on the blank side, completely uncomprehending, and the left eye twitching. “You know, P.K. Agents, wraiths…. Libby, you wanna help me out here?”

“Arthur, have you ever seen that Ghost Hunters show on Syfy?” Arthur nods, looking as though he was contemplating what little sanity Libby had left. It wasn’t much, if she was being completely honest here. “Alright, well, it’s kind of like that except not at all.”

“Jesus, you suck at this.”

“I’m traumatized, assface! I don’t have to be good at exposition.” Arthur chuckles nervously, looking to Ben for some backup.

“Fine, ghosts! We hunted ghosts with your uncle Cyrus.”

There’s a bit of an awkward silence where Arthur tried to process the information Dennis and Libby had just dumped over his head, mouth opening and closing before a confused noise leaves him. Then, just as Libby was about to see if he’d fall over after a poke, Arthur spoke,” Goats?”

"Ghosts! Ghosts, goddammit!”

“Right, ghosts….” Arthur lets out a nervous chuckle, sharing a look with Ben. “I get it, I’m scared.” _Jesus Christ on a stick, he thinks this is some kind of joke_. Ben joins him in laughing, and it’s one of the few times that Libby contemplated hitting the blond with his own briefcase. At the hurt look Dennis sends in their direction, white hot anger shoots through Libby and she drives her elbow into Ben’s stomach to cut him off.

“That’s enough,” she snarls, sitting up and slamming her feet on the floor. “I would just love to fill you both in on the nitty gritty of the situation, let you both know what kind of fucking monsters are lounging in the basement, but I won’t do it in this house! I want— I _need_ to get out, to get as far away from here as I can!” Suddenly it’s like she can’t suck in enough air to make her lungs stop burning, her vision starting to tunnel as she looks to Ben. "P-please, Ben, let's leave."

“Don’t be ridiculous, Elizabeth,” Ben scolds, the harsh tone making her flinch back in her seat. “You’ve lived here for a year and you’ve never had a problem until this weirdo showed up.” He turns his attention back to Arthur, pointing an accusing finger in Dennis’ direction. "This guy has been harassing my office since your uncle died and he’s obviously manipulating Libby. I see this all the time; some rich guy passes away and all the _nuts_ come out! Next thing you know, he’ll be claiming Cyrus owed him money.”

“He did owe me money,” Dennis yells, straightening up from where he’d doubled over. “He owed me a _shitload_ of money! But, you know what? I’d rather be alive than rich, so I’m getting my ass out of the big glass house! Grab your children, do the same!" Dennis was turning to leave when another fit hit him, making him hunch over with a punched-out grunt.

“Are you okay,” Arthur asks worriedly. Before Libby could stop him, he had a hand on Dennis’ shoulder and the psychic was hitting the ground with a shout. Libby’s moving before she even realizes it, shoving Arthur away from her friend and leaning over him protectively, whispering soothing nonsense until he had calmed down. "We'll go get you some help, okay," Arthur says gently, his hand hovering over Dennis' back. "We're gonna get you some help."

“He wasn’t lying before,” Libby explains without looking away from Dennis. “He’s a psychic and touching him will only make him feel worse.” After a couple of deep breaths Dennis is able to sit up by himself, using the sleeve of his jumpsuit to wipe off some drool.

"How's your head?"

"Not good," Dennis answers, rubbing at it. "Where's the suit?" Libby follows his gaze around the room, but Ben’s disappeared. It took her a moment to realize he wasn’t just hiding under the table, but then she was jumping to her feet and sprinting towards the basement.

“Fucking idiot,” she growls. The basement is pretty much the only place in the entire house Libby was never allowed access to, so what better place to hide all of Cyrus’ money? “Ben! I swear to God, I’m going to strangle you with your own goddamn tie!”

She continues to sprint through the dizzying maze of halls that runs under the main floor, listening for any sign that Ben was close by. The walls begin to shift suddenly, a Harry Potter style of absolute bullshit that did nothing for her nerves, having to dodge glass panels to avoid being cut in half. _Oh God, don't let me get lost down here with these things_ _!_

"Ben!" The next corner she turns has her facing the back of the Angry Princess and skidding to a halt, her feet sliding out from under her. Dana looks at her over her shoulder, motions jerky and uncoordinated as she holds up the butcher knife she’d used to carve up her own body. Libby holds her hand up with her palm facing the ghost, tapping into her rage and the last of her strength to make her ability flare to life. The last thing she sees is the ghost being flung sideways before darkness swoops over her.

 

 

The next time Libby’s eyes flutter open, the world is upside down and bouncing. It takes her a minute to realize that’s she’s slung over her boyfriend’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and she only came to that conclusion since she’s memorized what his ass looks like in suit pants.

“The hell is goin’ on,” she slurs, shifting as Ben’s shoulder digs into her belly. “Why do I have an ass in my face? I mean, it’s a nice ass and those squats are really starting to pay off, Benny, but I….” She trails off as she remembers finding him in the basement, cornered by a ghost that was fully prepared to explain the phrase _hell hath no fury like a woman scorned_. Libby was ready to demonstrate it as well right about now. Ben stops and sets her back on her feet, keeping an arm around her waist so that her face didn’t introduce itself to the floor again.

“Are you okay,” Dennis asks once she’s a little steadier. Arthur, Kathy, and Maggie are standing behind him, their faces swimming in front of her for a second before slotting back into their proper places.

“You wearing stuff like that is why I call you Shaggy.”

“Yup, she’s gonna be fine.”

“I’d be happy if someone gave me the SparkNotes version of why we’re still in this house instead of at the hospital or the Dairy Queen seven miles that way.” She points in a general eastern direction, nearly hitting Ben in the face when her arm flailed out.

“Your fuck buddy over there started a chain reaction and now the house is all sealed up. Oh yeah, and the tiny kid is somewhere down here, so we get to play search and rescue.”

“We gotta get that kid a damn bell or something.” She turns to look at her boyfriend, hoping all her displeasure and anger hit him like a brick wall. “And we’re having a long conversation if we make it out of here alive. You don’t just wander around through haunted houses because that’s how snobby white boys die.” Ben clenches his jaw but says nothing as the group begins to move once more.

“At least you’re not black,” Maggie grumbles.

“I do have that in my favor, yes.” That’s about when Libby realizes exactly where they are in the house and it’s not the part that gives her warm fuzzy feelings. Okay, so none of the house gives off those vibes but at least the upstairs portion doesn’t scream _enemies of the heir beware_. If they turn the corner and find Tom Riddle chilling with the Torn Prince, then she wouldn’t be surprised.

“Libby,” Arthur starts, sparing her a concerned look.

“No, no, no,” she groans, trying to back away. “I don't want to be down here. We have to get out of here!" Ben tightens his hold on her waist to keep her from bolting, actually having to struggle against the bulk of her weight. "No, he's down here, he wants to hurt me!" She was screaming at this point, desperately trying to get away and failing. "Please, Ryan's gonna kill me, he's gonna—" Her voice breaks, legs turning to jelly seconds before Ben scooped her up into his arms. “Please, don’t make me stay down here.”

“Libby, think how scared Bobby must be right now.” Arthur’s dark eyes have gone wide and pleading, his hands shaking until he wrings them together in front of his stomach. “I promise you, we’ll hightail it out of this place the _second_ we’ve found him, alright?” Part of Libby wants to just leave everyone behind in her dust, but her maternal side screamed that she’d never shake off the guilt if she left an innocent little boy to be devoured by this house.

“Fine, but we gotta move fast. If Dana was able to get out, then I’m sure it won’t be long before the others are, too. Ben, put me down.” Ben looks uncertain at first, but then he set her back on her feet and kept her steady with an hand at her elbow. “Do we at least have some sort of plan?”

“We’ve been following Dennis for the most part.”

“He’s got the same sense of direction as Mr. Hugglesworth.”

“Hey,” Dennis starts, but is cut off by Libby’s glare.

“Why don’t we split up, so we can cover more ground,” Arthur suggests. “I mean, we have even pairs for it and it’ll make finding Bobby go quicker. Kathy and I will go this way, Dennis and Maggie can check down there, and you two can head that way.” Nerves make Libby’s stomach clench uncomfortably as she looks down the hall that Arthur had pointed at. _Ryan could be hiding down there, just waiting to pounce on us_. “Hey.” Libby glances up, taking comfort in the fatherly warmth that comes off Arthur in waves. “We’re gonna get out of here.”

“If we don’t, I’m haunting the fuck out of this place,” she decides, doing her best to sound a little more confident than she feels. They part ways after that, Ben and Libby heading down the left corridor with no weapons and a whole basement full of ghosts ready to recreate a true crime documentary.

"Are you alright, Libby," Ben asks, rounding a new corner and leading them farther away from the basement steps.

“Not even remotely, but I’m trying to compartmentalize.”

“And how’s that working out?”

“It’s not.” _They're loose, we're all gonna die, and there's not a damn thing we can do about it_. “So what the hell did you do to piss off the house anyway?”

"I grabbed the damn suitcase with the money in it, but I lost it when you passed out." It sounds just like Cyrus to rig a suitcase full of money to send the house into lockdown and release the ghosts, that selfish bastard. “I swear, I’d kill that guy if he wasn’t dead already.”

“You’d have to wait in line.” Libby goes to push her glasses up on instinct, starting a little when she feels only the bridge of her nose instead of warm plastic. “Where the hell are my glasses?”

“They broke when you collapsed.” _More evidence that Lady Luck is out to get me, ladies and gentlemen_. “We can take turns sharing my glasses, so don’t freak out quite yet.”

“Well, at least one of us will know when we need to haul ass in the other direction.”

“That’s right, honey, just stay positive.”

“I’m pretty positive that I’m going to stay with Diana for at least a week when this is over. I’ve got some psychological scarring that only copious amounts of sugar, mindless television, and gossiping can cure.” Ben arches a brow, obviously unimpressed with small town therapy. “What? I don’t judge you when you sing sad songs in your boxers.”

“Fair enough.”

It’s quiet for the next few minutes as the pair made their way further into the basement, Libby slowly able to get a grip on all the emotions running rampant. Turns out that pretending ghosts aren’t out to get her is almost as easy as pretending that her parents loved her at one point. So basically, she thought of anything that would keep her mind off of that shit. Libby was distracted by thoughts of the chocolate ice cream she has in Ben’s freezer and didn’t notice anything was wrong until Ben was yanking her backwards hard enough that the collar of her tee ripped a little. With wide eyes, she looks around for a hint of which ghost she nearly walked right into.

"Move back slowly," Ben instructs in a low voice. She does as he says, taking small steps back to make less noise. _I can’t move the damn thing if I can’t see it_.

"Which one?"

"Jackal." That one word had her dinner trying to make a surprise reappearance, stomach cramping harshly. "Keep moving, Libby, he won't do anything if he doesn't notice—" Ben's eyes grow wide as he turns and jerks her alongside him in a desperate run. "Move!" Ryan’s crazed laughter echoes off the glass as he chases after them and then suddenly Libby’s world is tilting as she’s tackled to the ground, sharp nails raking down her side, rending cotton and flesh alike.

“Fuck!” Fire licks up her left side, a near-inhuman scream torn out of her as Ben latches onto her wrist and begins to drag her after him through the halls. The deep scratches burn and sting, warm blood drenching her shirt and leaving a messy trail behind her. Ryan cackles again, the nails of one hand making little rips in the front of her shirt as he tried to grope her breast. "Get off of me!" The walls begin to shake as her panic wells up, the lights overhead swaying back and forth. “GET OFF!"

And then the pressure was lifted off of her and a resounding crack was heard down the hall, the spells glowing bright red from the impact. Ben doesn’t even slow down to help Libby to her feet, just continuing his dead sprint and dragging her behind him. She lets him, trying to breathe through the throbbing pain.

"Go faster!" Ben obliges, nearly falling on the slick glass as he speeds up. "We have to get upstairs, they can't get upstairs if the glass is in the right spot."

“I’m tryin’,” he gasps out, cheeks red and hair mussed. To see him in a state other than refined perfection was always weird, even when stuck in a basement full of dead things. He skids to a stop around another corner when he was certain the Jackal wasn’t following them, helping Libby up as gently as he could while avoiding the scratches. “Look, there’s our way out.”

“Then let’s take it before Charlie Manson decides to make another guest appearance!” Libby runs as well as she can, the blood tacky against her side and beginning to itch. The second she makes it up the stairs, she spins and slams the glass pane closed behind them, watching as the spells light up when a ghost collides with the glass. Libby lets out a strangled noise, reaching out blindly until she feels Ben’s arms around her, holding her close as they both attempted to catch their breath.

“It’s okay, we’re gonna be okay,” he promises, sounding like he’s trying to reassure himself as well as the blonde. “There’s no way the ghosts can get past those spells.” They were just beginning to relax again when a pane of glass pops upwards, a shower of silver sparks following after it and sending the pair of them scrambling backwards. Dennis and Maggie round the corner in the same instance, the four of them screaming and trying to get away until all of them realized what was going on.

“Goddammit, I hate this house.” Kalina climbs up out of the hole in the floor a second later, looking far too calm for Libby’s liking. The bitch didn’t even have a hair out of place while Libby looked as though she’d gone ten rounds with a scrappy MMA fighter and came out on the losing side.

“What the hell are you doing here,” Dennis demands with an angry twist to his mouth. Whatever answer Kalina might have given him was interrupted by Arthur’s panicked screaming, desperately trying the climb up the thick cables while holding Kalina’s spell book. The group move as one, each of them grabbing Arthur wherever they could and hauling him up through the hole before whatever ghoul down there could turn him into a human crash test dummy.

“Which one’s out this time?”

“The Hammer.”

“That's fantastic, the big guy with a hammer for a hand is loose and out for blood.” She snatches the glasses right off Ben’s face, slipping them on and peering through the hole at the pissed off ghost below. The Hammer is a big guy with dark skin and iron spikes driven deep into his head and shoulders, his old sledgehammer embedded in the stump of his right wrist.

"Thanks for taking your time," Arthur snarls.

“We wouldn’t be in this mess if you would’ve just listened to me and Dennis earlier.”

“Libby, now really isn’t the time for your attitude.”

“Since I’ll probably end up dead tonight, I’m gonna give everyone attitude. If you don’t like that, then feel free to fuck right off.” Ben puts a hand on her shoulder, but she spins on her heel and pokes his chest. “And, I swear to God, you ever start another chain reaction like this just for money, I will cover you in honey and tie you to a tree for the ants to make a feast of.”

“We need to make a left and then a right,” Kalina says, completely ignoring the scene playing out behind her. Libby glances over her shoulder at the older woman, disbelief warring with anger for a spot on her face.

“Why the hell are we going to the library?” Kalina arches a single unimpressed brow and the realization smacks Libby harder than Cyrus’ cane. “Barrier spells surround it on all sides, so there’s no way the creepy crawlies can get in!” Kalina nods, shutting her book and leading the group towards the room Libby had practically lived in when she first came here.

“Go slow, everyone. We don’t need to attract attention to ourselves when we’re out in the open like this.” They make it a few feet before a familiar snarl makes Libby turn just in time to see Ryan throw Arthur against one of the walls, gouging the flesh of Arthur’s back with his sharp nails.

“Kalina,” Dennis shouts,” give me the flare!” He runs over to them when Kalina hesitates, snatching it out of her hand and throwing it at the ghost. Ryan disappears the second before the sparks could hit him, just flickering out of existence and leaving Arthur to fall to his knees. “Get him up! Grab him, we gotta go!” Ben and Maggie each shoulder some of Arthur’s weight, dragging him between them as they start to run again.

“Move faster!” Libby spares a glance over her shoulder, spotting the Pilgrimess with her head and hands still bound in the stocks she’d died in. The ghost’s colorless eyes land on the group and Libby’s reminded for a moment of the villain in one of her favorite books, a man with eyes bright as silver coins and a heart as black as ink. _Would she steal books, too? Hide out in the Italian countryside with an army of crows?_

“Libby, _move!”_ Dennis’ shout drags her back to the present, breath hitching in her throat as she practically dives into the library. Dennis and Kalina slide the door shut just as the Pilgrimess slams into the glass with a serpentine hiss. Libby doesn’t bother getting up, sprawling out on the floor like a starfish. "I hate this job," Dennis groans, resting his head against the pane and leaving a bloody smear along the glass.

"It doesn't seem to like you too much either.” Kalina slams her book down on the table in the center of the room, sending Dennis a nasty glare. “I wonder why.” He tosses his glasses on the table before pacing back to the door, looking torn between not giving a fuck and giving way too many fucks to be healthy.

"You got something to say, say it."

"Alright, let's start with this is _all your goddamn fault!_ If you hadn’t caught them, then we wouldn’t be cowering in the library!” Dennis takes a step forward, pointing over at where Arthur was bent over a chair so that Maggie could look at his cuts. Ben crouches next to Libby, forcing her to lie down on her uninjured side so he could examine the scratches. She hisses as he peels the shirt off, but otherwise manages to stay silent.

"It's his uncle that built the damn house!"

"Yeah, but you helped him!" Her angry gaze lands on Ben and Libby next and the blonde couldn’t gather up the strength to really care. "And the two of you helped him, too!"

“And you’re so high and mighty,” Libby snarls, sitting up and leaning against a table leg. “For all your words about helping these spirits, you sure didn’t stick around too long when they came out to play!”

“Because your crew was provoking them! Why do you think so many of those men Cyrus hired ended up dead?”

"Shut up all of you," Arthur commands weakly from his chair. “Cut them some slack, would you? What difference does it make?" Kalina glances between Arthur and Dennis for a moment, looking like she had the winning hand in high stakes poker. Libby didn’t like that expression, it made her want to take a swing at the other woman.

"You didn't tell him, did you?”

"Oh God, w-what? Tell me what? What now?" Arthur stands up slowly, using the back of his chair in order to stay standing.

"About the fourth ghost." Libby wasn’t allowed to go on that little field trip, Cyrus saying something about it being too personal before he shoved her out of the house. She’d ended up staying the night with Ben, eating pizza and watching reruns of Scrubs.

"No," Dennis shakes his head," I didn't tell him. Don't do this to him."

"He has a right to know!"

"What about the fourth ghost," Arthur asks, shaking and barely able to stand.

"Saint Luke's hospital—six months ago." The news seems to hit Arthur like a ton of bricks, tears making his eyes shine and his arms almost giving out on him. Behind him, Maggie’s got her hands over her mouth and she’s shaking her head back and forth as though that would be enough to make the news less true.

"Are you saying my wife's spirit is trapped in this house?” His voice is uneven towards the end, and Libby’s surprised when he doesn’t break down completely. How would she feel to know that someone she loved was trapped as a ghost in this hellhole? It had to be one of the worst things in the world.

"I didn't know you," Dennis says as an apology. “I didn't know her. I didn't she had a  _husband_." With a cry of rage, Arthur lunges forward and punches Dennis, sending them both to the ground.

"Why? Tell me, why her?"

“I don't know why! Cyrus handpicked them all, including your wife.” He wipes his hand under his nose, more blood added to the dried mess on his fingers. “I doubt even Libby or Moss knew who the ghost was, he didn’t even allow them to tag along. The second I realized who you were, I tried to help.”

"You call this help? She's right, this  _is_ all your goddamn fault!” Maggie helps Arthur up, keeping a hand on his arm until he was steady but not moving away. They were close, maybe not in a romantic sense, but she would probably do whatever she could to make sure he and his kids made it out of here in one piece.

“I might know a way that you can save her and your kids,” Kalina says, walking around the table with her leather-bound book clutched to her chest like a safety blanket. “It’s going to sound weird, but this house isn’t actually a house. This whole place is one big machine, a faithful recreation of Basileus' design."

“Quick question, did you happen to scarf down any mushrooms before sneaking in here,” Libby asks disbelievingly. “Maybe smoke a little weed that tasted stranger than usual or dropped some acid?”

“Unlike you, I don’t have to rely on drugs to live with myself.”

“Live with Cyrus for a year and then come talk to me.”

“Do you mind?” Libby raises her hands in a placating manner, taking a tumbler of expensive scotch from Ben. Kalina shakes her head disapprovingly but ignores the blonde in favor of flipping open her book. "According to this, there should be twelve earth-bound spirits trapped inside. See this? They represent the Black Zodiac, the ghosts that Cyrus needed to catch.”

“See what? What am I missing?”

“Just some pictures,” Arthur tells her distractedly. “Drawings of sigils and…. And the ghosts. Keep going, Kalina.”

“This one is called the Firstborn Son,” she continues, the sound of pages being flipped comforting. “The Torso, the Bound Woman, the Withered Lover…. Jean.” Libby glances up in the instant of quiet, watching Arthur stroke a page in the book that must represent his wife’s presence in the house. “The Torn Prince, the Angry Princess, the Pilgrimess, the Great Child and the Dire Mother, the Hammer, the Jackal is the sign of Hell’s winter, and the Juggernaut.”

“Good lord….”

“According to Basileus, the machine required the energy of these specific spirits in order to bring it to life. Once it engages, the spirits are released one by one and the house then draws them to its center. Each one adds its energy to the machine, powering it up."

"For what?”

"To open the _Ocularis Infernum_."

"The _Ocularis_ ," Maggie asks. “What's that?"

"It's Latin," Arthur provides," it means the Eye of Hell."

"The Eye of Hell." Maggie begins to pace back and forth, throwing her hands up in defeat. "I'm stuck in here in a glass house, with a bunch of crazy white people." _Bet she wishes she could’ve stayed behind in the apartment now_. That’s what Libby wishes she had done, just slept through the entire day with Ben curled up behind her. This running from ghosts shit is for the birds.

"Go on," Arthur urges Kalina.

“In Hell, there is an eye that sees everything,” she explains,” the past and the future, Heaven and Earth, the blessed and the damned. If knowledge is power, then the man who controls the _Ocularis_ would be the most powerful man on earth.”

“And you people wonder why I get high,” Libby scoffs. “How else would I deal with an ego big enough that he thinks he could actually get away with this type of shit? He was on a power trip twenty-four seven.” She sits up a little further so she can see the others better, supported against Ben’s side. “How many ghosts are we dealin' with right now?"

"Eleven, and the house needs twelve."  _Well, I need some more alcohol, keep it coming, people._ She must not have said it out loud like she meant to because Dennis begins to talk and the glass in her hand remains empty.

"No, Damon said something about  _thirteen_ , that there are  _thirteen_  ghosts."

"The thirteenth ghost is a fail-safe. In order to stop the process, the house needs a sacrifice of life instead of death. A willing human sacrifice, a sacrifice of a broken heart." She looks pointedly at Arthur while she talks, something Maggie takes offense to. "The only ghost to be created out of an act of pure love."

"You're the thirteenth ghost."  _And I'm freakin' thirsty. Someone get me a bottle of scotch and shut up so that I can get wasted and die in peace_.

"The thirteenth spirit stands before the Eye at the final configuration. As the Eye opens, the spirit uses the power of life to essentially short-circuit the system."

"Uses the power of life how," Arthur asks.

"By leaping into the Eye."

"And Arthur's supposed to take this leap," Maggie asks, putting a protective hand on his shoulder. "No fucking way, lady. That's suicide, Arthur, I'm not gonna let you do that. You need to come up with something else 'cause that ain't working, no way."

"You two should get together." All eyes land on Libby and it takes her a bit to realize why. “Sorry, my inner dialogue is a little wonky from the blood loss and the booze. Just ignore me.”

"Love is the most powerful energy, Arthur," Kalina continues, shooting a look in Libby’s direction.  _Why don't you jump then, bitch? It should work if the heart eyes you sent Cyrus’ way are any indication_. "In order for you to save your children, you'd have to trade your life for theirs." _Any good parent would do that in a second if they had to, wouldn’t they? Hell, I'd do it for little Mel and she ain't even my kid_. Dennis pulls the book away from Kalina, looking as though he wanted to find something in there that proved the woman wrong, that Arthur wouldn't have to leave his children alone in the world.

"No, there's gotta be a better way," he says in a desperate tone. "I don't read Latin." Kalina stands up and dumps out her bag, explosives and the makings of a homemade bomb falling out on the table.

"Well, we can try it the old fashioned way, my personal favorite. Nobody's gonna be here to brag about it afterwards. Whatever we decide, we gotta come up with a game plan soon 'cause time's running out."

"You gonna blow the place up," Maggie asks in disbelief.

"The last ghost is about to be released."

“And what if the suicide option doesn’t actually work,” Dennis asks, leaning his hands against the table. “What if he dies and this stupid machine keeps going? We have no real guarantee since you’re the only one here that can understand what the books says. Frankly, I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“I’m workin’ on it!” Arthur shoves away from the table and crosses the room to one of the windows, Dennis following after him. Libby watches on for a moment as the pair argues, setting her glass aside when she realizes no one’s going to refill it anytime soon.

“I agree with Dennis,” she says, ignoring the slight slur of her words. “At this point, I’m stubborn enough that I want to do the exact opposite of what the crusty bitch says.” She gestures at Kalina for emphasis. “Honestly, I think any idea that ends with suicide is a stupid one. Either way, there’s a chance we’re all going to die very soon, and I plan on going out shit-faced.”

“And what if it was your kids that could die in here,” Arthur asks, though he doesn’t turn away from the glass to look at her and misses the way her hand brushes her stomach. “What would you do to save them?” She meets Ben’s gaze, her fingers twining with his as they both came to the same conclusion. She could see it in the way his back straightened, the flare of protectiveness that makes his blue eyes darken.

“I’d track them down and hurt any bastard that tried to stop me.”

“That sounds as good an option as any,” Dennis states, resigned to the fact that they’ll probably be dead by morning. It’s a miracle they’ve all made it this long with as many attacks that have happened. “Let’s go out there and find your kids.” Arthur finally turns around, the same determination as Dennis in the way that he holds himself.

"No matter what I decide to do or what happens to any of us, are you sure you can stop that machine," he asks.

"I got enough explosives to blow us back to the fifteenth century," Kalina answers with a smile.

"How many flares do you have left?"

“One, why?"

"We're going out again."

“You hear that, Benny,” Libby asks, laughing a little. “We’re about to get our asses handed to us by a bunch of ghosts. Don’t that just sound lovely?”

“It’s the sort of thing every man dreams of,” Ben remarks, squeezing Libby’s hand. “I suppose if I have to die, I’d rather do it with you.” He stands up first and then helps Libby, wrapping one of his arms around her shoulders while her arm loops around his waist. “Are you sober enough to run?"

“We’re about to find out.” He snorts, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head before helping Dennis and Arthur remove one of the glass sheets that form a wall. It takes a bit of work and a lot of cursing, but the pane pops free after a vicious kick from Arthur. He and Dennis take control of it, one on each side so that they were both mostly protected by the spells.

“We got about ten minutes before the ectoplasmic shit hits the fan," Kalina informs the group. “You two go find the kids and the rest of us will head downstairs to buy you some time.” Dennis and Arthur head out first, making their way down the hall on the left while the others start down the right towards the hole Kalina had made. The four of them pause when they make it to the hole, staring down into it and not moving. “Any volunteers to go first?”

“I don’t fucking think so,” Maggie states. “It was your idea to go back into the murder basement.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.” Kalina digs around in her satchel until she finds the last flare, flicking the cap over the top to get sparks showering around them. She drops the flare in case any ghosts try to show up while she’s distracted, using the cables to control her fall into the basement.

“I ain’t goin’ next,” Libby says when Maggie looks over at her. “Last time I was down there, I had a pervert use me as a scratching post.” She lifts the side of her shirt for proof, doing her best to ignore the nauseating ache that radiates from the scratches. Maggie scowls, but she goes next with Libby and Ben following after her at a more subdued pace.

"Here, put these on." Kalina hands Maggie her own pair of glasses and then picks up the flare. "Come on, let's get this over with." Ben grumbles under his breath, sticking close to Libby as they make their way through the halls.

“If we live through this, I’m eating my weight in ice cream and punching anyone that comments on it.” Libby looks to the right, noting the bag with stacks of cash falling out of it and the broken pair of glasses by her feet. "Hey, this is where I saved your ass.”

“Yes, it is,” he says, running his free hand through his disheveled hair. “And as a thank you, how about I marry you if we live through this?”

“Fine, but you’ll be doing the actual proposal in some fancy place that’ll give us free dessert afterwards.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” She can’t quite swallow her laugh, unable to see herself in a huge white dress or a church in general. “Come on, we better not fall behind.” When they catch up with Kalina and Maggie, Kalina’s opened a door to reveal a spacious room with a big ass machine smack dab in the middle of it. The whole thing was shaped like an hourglass, made up of spinning blades and cogs that sounded like knives being sharpened. "Holy mother of God."

“How the fuck did I miss him building this thing?”

“He probably did it when you were high,” Maggie points out, holding the flare tightly as Kalina examines the little station set up beside the machine. Libby was fully ready to argue that she spent most of her time exploring when she got high, but it died on her tongue when she turned and spotted the bastard responsible for this mess strolling inside.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me right now.” Cyrus is still dressed in the bloody suit he’d died in, the metal tip of his cane making _click-clack­_ noises on the metal floor. Maggie shrieks when she sees him, holding the flare the way she'd seen Kalina do. Cyrus doesn’t even flinch at the sparks that make little sizzling sounds when they singe his coat, advancing with a proud quirk to his lips. _There’s only one reason why that flare doesn’t work and that’s because the bastard's still kicking_.

"Kalina, get over here! This flare shit ain't working!" Kalina smiles at Cyrus raising the book up and bringing it down hard on Maggie's head before Libby could shout a warning. That one hit is all it took, Maggie falling to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. Libby stumbles backwards against an equally surprised Ben, feeling his arms around her middle.

“I’ll be damned….” Kalina moves forward, pressing her lips against Cyrus’ in a display only fit for an eighth grade dance. “I fucking called it. Dennis owes me twenty bucks.” Cyrus doesn’t let the kissy act last long, though, taking the book and shoving Kalina away from him with enough force to have her falling back into a chair.

"Where is it," he asks, flipping to the back of the book. "Where is it?" He slams the book closed, advancing on the traitorous bitch. "Kalina!"

"Why are you so mad at me," she stutters nervously. “I did everything you asked me to do."

"Kalina—”

"I killed Damon, I stole his spells..."

"Kalina—”

"...I even made sure your pathetic nephew didn't get himself killed."

"Kalina!” The sudden shout is what makes her shut up, brown eyes wide as Cyrus holds up the book and gestures at it with his free hand. “Where are the _spells?"_ He enunciates each word as though he's talking to a mentally deficient puppy, shoving the book into her arms. She hurriedly pulls an audio reel out of her bag, giving it to him. _If she actually believes he loves her, then she’s dumber than I thought she was and I thought she was pretty friggin’ dumb to begin with_.

"You're not mad at me, are you?"

"Of course not." The final lever raises with a click, the sigil carved into the ivory top making Libby sick to her stomach. That was a fresh memory, filled with snapping tape and tortured screams as men were pulled apart like pieces of meat. _The Juggernaut is loose_. She sucks in a deep breath, shaking her head and mumbling under her breath. It’s over now, they’re all going to die and there’s nothing they can do to stop it.

“What do we do next?” Cyrus walks over to the machine, pushing Ben and Libby out of the way like they weren't there in the first place. Kalina gets up and follows after him like a lost little puppy. "Your nephew believes that sacrificing himself will save his kids, but he won't do it unless he's convinced they’re in jeopardy."

"Well, put them jeopardy."

“No,” Libby shouts, breaking away from Ben and moving towards Cyrus. “They're only kids, you disgusting bastard!" Cyrus doesn’t hesitate to bring his cane down sharply, the silver head of it connecting with Libby’s cheek and driving her backwards. She trips over her own feet, falling to the ground with a pained grunt.

"Greatness requires sacrifice," he says," something you never quite figured out." Libby taps into the rage again, like she’s done since she was five years old and tired of abuse, but she’s too weak right now to throw Cyrus like she wants to. “Kalina, I believe you have a job to do.” As Kalina jumps into action, Ben pulls Libby off to the side so there was more space between them and the vindictive bastard.

“Cyrus,” Ben starts, but he’s cut off before he can say anything else.

“Don’t worry, Ben, you’ll be paid for your time here. And feel free to keep Elizabeth as interest. That is, if you're not already bored with her. I know your women don't tend to last long.” Cyrus finishes feeding the tape into the little machine set up at the station, pressing a button that had Latin spells transmitting through the house using cleverly hidden speakers. “Kalina, fetch the book.”

Ben and Libby stay in their little corner of the room, watching as Cyrus strides out purposefully with Kalina trailing a few feet behind him. The distance is enough to have him through the short hallway first, the hall sealing up after him and beginning to close like a trash compactor. Libby turns her gaze back to the monstrous machine, doing her best to ignore Kalina’s screams as she’s squashed.

“We have to do something,” Libby says when the screams finally stop,” anything, something!”

"Like what, Libby? If you haven't noticed, we're locked inside!" Libby wiggles her way out of Ben’s hold and scoots over to Maggie, shaking her roughly until the other woman snorts awake.

“Come on! If we don’t do something right now, then everyone is gonna die!” Maggie shakes her head to clear it, her dark eyes locking on the control panel of the machine and then cutting her gaze to Libby. “Yeah, I’m too dizzy to stand up right now, but feel free to experiment." She rushes over to where the reels are spinning on the panel, pressing random buttons.

"Come on," she shouts, growing impatient when the Latin continues to play.

"The reels," Ben calls. He joins Maggie in front of the panel, picking up the audio reel and throwing it at the whirling blades of the machine.  Maggie moves over to the levers next, pushing them down and pulling them back up to get a reaction. She gets just that when the metal cogs begin to grind against each other, tearing apart.

“Guys,” Libby yells,” get your asses over here now!” Ben and Maggie drop down beside her, huddling close as she taps into the last of her energy to create a bubble around them. She tries focusing on her anger to keep the shield up, but it’s not enough anymore. With a groan, she thinks about the sound of Diana’s laughter, of the way Davey’s blue eyes had lit up when he found out his kids were all making straight A’s, and how safe she feels when she’s wrapped up in Ben’s arms at night. How great it’ll feel to tell him about the faint movement she’s felt since last month, like feathers across her belly.

The shield stays up this time, a pulsating lavender bubble that glowed golden in places whenever debris hit it. The explosion rocks the house, shattering glass and rending the metal beams. The sound is deafening even inside the psychic bubble, Libby covering her ears and curling closer to Ben. It seems to last forever, glass raining down on them like a shower of diamonds, glittering in the moonlight that’s shining in now that the roof has been blown to smithereens.

Libby coughs when the dust starts to settle, watching as Maggie begins a tirade as she storms out of the destroyed room, screaming to anyone listening that she was done with this nanny shit. The house is done too, blown to bits with every object inside broken apart except for a wooden box lodged in the ground a few feet away.

"Is that what I think it is," Libby asks, looking at Ben. He nods with an expression of bewilderment, not yet noticing the dirt smeared over one cheek or the way his hair is sticking up at odd angles as though…. Well, as though a house had just gone _kaboom_ around him.

“Yeah, that's his liquor cabinet. Too bad we don't have the key." In shock, Libby reaches into her bra and pulls out the little silver key he had given her earlier, holding it up for him to see. "Hell, let's see what the old man has inside." They pick their way through the room until they could sit in front of the little cabinet, unlocking the door and prying it open to see inside.

Libby ignores the bottles of booze and grabs the little black notebook instead, flipping through the pages and taking in all the names and numbers scrawled inside. “This is his bank information.” She points to the ID number in the lower left corner of the last page. “Except it’s not the one he told me about when I came to live here.” She reaches in again and pulls out a small suitcase, opening it to find stacks upon stacks of hundred dollar bills. “This must be how Data felt in The Goonies.”

“I think we’ve found our golden ticket, babe.” He pulls out a decanter of wine, though how it was still in one piece, Libby would never understand. “How about a drink to celebrate?” Libby winces at that, really regretting the sips of scotch she’d had upstairs in the library now that she knew she was going to live.

“You go ahead, but I should probably hold off on that for the next six months or so.” It takes Ben a minute to process that, the decanter slowly lowered to the ground as his brows furrow. “Congrats, Ace, you’re gonna be a daddy.”

 

 

Libby stares up at the ruins of what used to be her house, her emotions little more than a jumbled mess in her chest after what all had happened here just six months ago. She sighs, sinking further into Ben’s hold and placing her hands over his atop her protruding belly.

Arthur sends the couple a fond smile, one hand on his daughter’s shoulder and the other wrapped loosely around Maggie’s waist. It had taken him a few tries, but he’d eventually convinced Maggie to go out with him and Libby had happily rubbed that little fact in everyone’s faces. She may have been half-drunk and dazed from pain, but she’d called the relationship.

This little trip was long overdue if they wanted to scavenge anything good, but one exciting thing had come out of it so far. Dennis, ghost or not, was still hanging around to keep people from being brutally murdered. Libby knew this for a fact because Ben was smacked upside the head by something invisible just five minutes after getting out of his car.

“There he is,” Bobby shouts, pointing towards a gentle slope to the right of the house. It gives a nice view of a little river that runs behind the house, shaded by the oak and pine trees and perfect for the picnics she and Dennis used to have up there. And then Libby’s seeing him too, Dennis smiling brightly at them and waving. Libby waves back, wishing she could hug him at least once, but knowing it was too late for that. He flickers once and then he’s gone, Shaggy-styled clothes and all.

“Come on,” Ben says, tugging gently at Libby’s hand. “We have to get to the hospital early to sign you in before they’ll induce labor.” She allows him to lead her to the minivan (he was pissed at that purchase, though he did fall in love with picking out tiny onesies), the others falling in step with them. “We get to welcome little Tate into the world today and we don’t need to be late.”

“We’re not naming him Tate,” Libby states firmly. “His name is going to be Sawyer.”

“Baby, you’re going to be so drugged up when they bring the birth certificate in that you’ll barely be able to sign your own name.” Libby shoots him a look and the tips of his ears turn a light pink. “On second thought, Sawyer’s a wonderful name.” He helps her into the car and shuts her door before running around to the driver’s side, jittery with nerves and excitement.

“You don’t think our baby will get involved with the supernatural, do you?”

“That’ll be as likely as me letting him dye his hair crazy colors.” Libby doesn’t say anything to that, knowing if her son inherited half of his parents’ stubborn natures that there’d be no stopping him from dying his hair if he really wanted to. Libby wasn’t going to complain as long as her baby came out healthy with no ghost-related defects.

“Crazy hair or not, I’m gonna love him more than anything else in this world.”


	8. Hitching Rides and CD Debacles

**/*/Nineteen Years Later/*/**

Sawyer had done a lot of weird ghostbusting trips since he turned eighteen (his dad still bitched every Sunday, his mom still made sure he knew to wear his seatbelt, and his little sister still tried to sneak along for the ride), but this was one of the weirder cases. Granted, it wasn’t anywhere near as weird as the time he and Tilda had stopped the ghost of a psycho known as Bunnyman. This still made the top ten, though.

They’d heard the legends from the usual source: Maya and Georgie arguing over which scary story was best for a sleepover in the dorms. Supposedly there was a ghost that hitched rides with unsuspecting college kids near New Mexico, killing them when they approach a sign for Tatum and disappearing without a trace. Sawyer thought it was complete bunk at first, but then Livvy grabbed her computer and googled the damn thing.

Now here they were, driving down a deserted highway in the middle of the night without any kind of cell service available. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the brunette next to him refused every CD he’d offered so far. “Jesus, woman, just pick one already,” he snaps, though his smile lessened his annoyance.

“I’m trying,” Tilda says, flipping through the case with an intense concentration she usually reserved for tuning up her bike. “Your selection really sucks, though. We’ll have to go to the mall or something when we get back.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my music taste, you’re just picky.” She scoffs, chewing on her bottom lip as she continued to browse. Sawyer shakes his head, smiling at the way she absently tugged at a some of her hair. The chocolate brown tresses were done up in a bun-braid combo at the top of her head, though most of it seems to have come undone after the long drive and her restless fingers.

“We can’t fight a ghost without the right music.” His gaze focuses back on the road, headlights showing empty blacktop for a good twenty or so feet. “Hey, didn’t your dad have some CDs in here?”

“Yeah, but I think he took them out when he gave me the car.” Ben Moss was notoriously picky when it came to his music, even more so than a certain girlfriend that was currently digging around in the glove compartment. “Babe, just let it go and we’ll listen to the radio.” She makes a frustrated noise and keeps looking, shifting around papers and a flashlight as though the CDs would magically appear in a puff of smoke.

“How do you not at least have the Ghostbusters soundtrack? That would really set the mood.” Sawyer’s eyes find their target standing in the middle of the road, coat sticking to him as though he’d just walked through a downpour. Sawyer eases the car to a stop, hands sweating where they gripped the steering wheel.

“Pretty sure and actual ghost would set the mood better than any music.” Tilda’s eyes flick upward and she snaps the compartment closed as the man begins to walk their way, booted feet dragging over the asphalt with a rough scraping sound. Sawyer’s heart beat out a fast rhythm in his chest, loud enough that he was surprised when Tilda didn’t hear it, too. He attempted to stay calm, but his chicken status was right up there with the likes of Frank Burns or Shaggy. Tilda, on the other hand, could probably tell Freddy Kruger to piss off and not bat an eye.

“You ready for this, Tot?” He chuckles lowly at the childhood nickname, one that came because his dad was insistent on his middle name being Tate. Now only three people were allowed to call him that, just like he was the only one allowed to call Tilda ‘Mattie’. Leah had been gobsmacked that winter afternoon after school the first time she’d heard him call her that, as though she’d expected Matilda to knock his head off instead of shooting him a grin that made her entire face light up.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” He takes a deep steadying breath and then the man was at Tilda’s window, tapping on the glass with a single blunt nail. This close, Sawyer could make out blond hair shorn close to his head, nearly a match for Sawyer’s usual color. Not this month, though, now the unruly mane was bright green like the four leaf clover he had tattooed on the inside of his wrist, right above his baby sister’s name.  _I really hope you’re still one of my good luck charms, Livvy_.

“Hop on in,” Tilda says with a wide smile, her window rolled down just enough to allow the man to hear her words. His head dips in a polite nod, the back door of the Jaguar squeaking as it opens to permit the man inside. The smell of rain is heavy, surrounding him like a heady cologne despite the fact that there hadn’t been a storm up this way in nearly a week. He was dressed from head to toe in dark blues and black, eyes sunken in his head like a Tim Burton character.

“Thank you,” he murmurs,” not many people stop out here at night.”

“Well, don’t tell my boyfriend’s dad and we won’t kick you out.” She was teasing, though there was an edge of truth to the first half. If Ben Moss knew they came all the way out here to send a ghost to the afterlife instead of visiting Tilda’s cousin, then he’ll make the man in the backseat seem like Mister Rogers. “Where ya headed?”

“Tatum.”

“So are we! How trippy is that?” Sawyer manages a tight smile, starting the car back down the highway. Tatum was only seven miles from here, they just had to make it five minutes with the whacko and then they were home free. At least, Sawyer hoped that was true. According to Hazel’s tentative research, no one ever made it past the sign for Tatum in the ten years since the murders started, always coming up short as though there was some barrier preventing it.

“Must be cosmic,” Sawyer adds, wincing when he realizes how weird that sounded. When was the last time he’d actually heard someone say that? Probably in one of those eighties movies his mom was obsessed with.  _God, I really need to get out more_. “I’m Sawyer Moss and this is Tilda Webb.”

“John Ryder,” the man says, voice a low mumble like rolling thunder. He looked rough, a couple of scars cutting through the wrinkles of his forehead, jaw covered in a light smattering of stubble, and mouth pulled into a severe frown. This was behind the charming veneer he used to show people, this was the hardened killer that was no doubt planning how to get rid of them right this very second.

 **Don’t pick up hitchhikers**  warned a sign not far from where they’d found John standing, glowing green as the headlights washed over it.  _Don’t pick up hitchhikers_ , his father had told them sternly just three days ago,  _you never know if they’re some kind of psycho hellbent on making two teenagers into boots_.

_Well, Dad, we’re about to find out if you’re right or not._

Sawyer picks up speed, up to eighty now as a hill comes into view. It sloped down at a sharp angle, the double yellow line faded and a pair of skid marks careening off into the scrub brush. There was a wreck there, probably from a year ago when Ryder struck last. Pale blue eyes find the man using the rearview mirror, grip tightening when he sees the way the man was studying Tilda.  _Don’t you hurt her_ , he warns silently when Ryder meets his gaze.  _Don’t you lay one goddamn hand on her_.

The side of his mouth twitches up into something like a smirk, knowing and predatory as his left hand leaves the pocket of his overcoat. Sawyer acted fast, jerking the wheel to the left so that Ryder’s head connected with the window. There was a sharp crack and a grunt, then Ryder was lunging forward to grab a handful of Sawyer’s messy curls. He’d been expecting it; of the two, he was the one that actually looked capable of fighting.

“Hands off,” Tilda screams, pushing her foot off the bottom of the door and launching herself between the seats to tackle Ryder. And that’s where Ryder had made his worst mistake, thinking that Tilda was the weaker one that could be disposed of last. Tilda was the badass and that fact was cemented in Sawyer’s mind as she wrestled the switchblade out of Ryder’s hand and jammed it into the meat of his thigh.

“Get him, Mattie,” Sawyer encourages, getting back in the right lane. Just three more minutes, they just had to make it that far and it’ll be over with. And it should have been easy for them, they’d done stuff like this dozens of times since they were sixteen (back then, they traveled using Tilda’s motorcycle and Libby nearly had a heart attack each time they left).

There was a shout in the back and then a calloused hand was grabbing the back of Sawyer’s neck, slamming his face against the steering wheel hard enough to daze him and bloody his nose. The car swerves to the right, the front tire slipping onto gravel and the rest of the car following soon after until Sawyer could slam on the brakes to keep them from crashing into a sign.

“You college kids are all the same,” Ryder says in that rumbling growl. There was an accent there, but it wasn’t distinctive enough to be identifiable. “Privileged little shits.” With every word, he slammed Sawyer’s head down again, fighting off the flailing punch Sawyer sent his way.

“Fuck you,” Sawyer yells back at him.

“Now I’m gonna kill your little girlfriend and the pair of us are gonna take a walk.” Ryder lets out another grunt and pulls back, Sawyer barely able to turn his head enough to see Tilda clawing at the man’s face. No blood was drawn, it never was when the person you’re attacking was already dead, but it still hurt like a motherfucker as the purple-polished nails dug lines along Ryder’s cheeks.

“Where’s the knife?!”

“Broken,” she says breathlessly, struggling to keep the upper hand. She’s bleeding, a gash near her hairline that was a good two inches long. He turns his head again, looking through bleary eyes at the sign they’d nearly crashed into.  **Tatum**  it proclaimed in bold white letters, glowing in the yellow beams like some kind of gift from God.

“Hold on tight!” He jerked the wheel at the same time as he slams one booted foot down on the gas pedal, propelling them back onto the highway with a screech of rubber and protesting gears. “I’m sending this motherfucker straight to Hell!” They sped past the sign and into the town, Ryder letting out an ear-piercing howl as his back arched in pain. Cracks spread over every inch of bare skin, eyes turning dark as pitch as the howl turned into a wet gurgling. Sawyer didn’t let up until the man crumbled into ash, some of it creating a light dusting along Tilda’s bare legs.

 

 

They stay in a motel that night, cheap and probably infested by bugs, but Sawyer didn’t care as long as the shower water was hot. Tilda joined him after a moment, resting her head against his shoulder as the water washed away the ashes. She fit against him perfectly, muscles relaxing as he wrapped his arms around her.

“We actually stopped a dead serial killer,” she says after a moment, lips soft as they brush against him. “We, like, killed him a second time or something.”

“Your mom would be proud.” He can feel her shaking before he hears her laugh, quiet compared to the spray of water. “And to think we started this week just hoping we could finish those psych essays on time.”

“We still have to work on those when we get back.” He groans, his head dropping down to rest on hers. Even after having a ghost explode near her and the scent of copper hanging in the air, Tilda’s hair still smelled sweet as he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. He could stay here forever, feeling her hands rubbing along his back and the comfortable weight of her head against his shoulder.

“Oh shit….”

“What?” Sawyer shakes his head a little, grinning as she pulls away to look up at him. He couldn’t actually believe the day had arrived so soon since they’d only been away from home for a year now. Revelations like these were supposed to come when you were thirty with a screaming kid on your hip that just  _wouldn’t stop crying_. But here he was, fighting back a laugh as he once more remembered his father’s words before he and Tilda left.

“Dad was right about those hitchhiker’s all along.”

[Outfits](https://www.polyvore.com/illusion_secrecy/collection?id=6977027) [Songs Used](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLMThOqpxbYop-KEvk2t1bn9cdFVw5kV8J)


End file.
